Siberian Divide
by die-kokolores
Summary: The Summit Meetings as they would have been if America and Russia Alfred/Ivan existed. Story contains some crack, strong presidentxcountry relationships, angst, smut, language, and historical accuracy.
1. Unexpected News

_So this is my first publish Hetalia fic (but not first-ever fic). I got the idea from my text book...I just love the cold war so much (and Gorbachev!) and thought that the Summit Meetings would make for an adorable (and hilarious) fanfic. I hope that you like it...it's kind of a lame idea. haha anywho, please R&R _

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia.  
**Warnings: **language (maybe), yaoi in later chapters. _

* * *

Alfred loved his new boss. He liked him much more than the previous American president, that Jimmy Carter guy, who left his position in office in disgrace. Ronald Regan was chill. He shared the young Nation's optimism and larger-than-life ideas, whereas some of his earlier presidents shunned them for their impracticality. He was a movie-star, a dreamer and the young Nation regarded him as a heroic figure, the way a child might to an astronaut. He was a role model and he treated his country like a son, instead of regarding the Nation as a precious jewel, an old relic meant to be locked up and protected as many of his past presidents had. Regan had always respected Alfred's opinions until that one day…

That one day Alfred sat in the Oval Office. His shoed feet rested upon the ancient mahogany desk top as he watched the steam drift from his mug of coffee with azure eyes, lids drooping with boredom. He had sat there for over an hour, waiting for his Boss and was getting annoyed. America was never known for his patience. He shifted in the leather chair uncomfortably for what must have been the hundredth time and stood to pace around the room to fight off the nervous anxiety that grew more and more the longer he was made to wait. Regan had summoned him early that morning to discuss some break-through idea regarding foreign policy. He came upon the request but honestly didn't have the slightest interest in the topic. He was still anxious however boring he figured the meeting would be, for it at least gave him something to do. The young Nation had always had issues with being unoccupied. It left room for disturbing thoughts to invade and the thick silences swallowed him like a wave, reminding him of death and small, tight spaces and other unpleasant things.

After two more minutes of meaningless wondering about the room, fiddling and re-fiddling with the books and old relics from previous ages and bosses, Alfred returned to his seat and picked up the coffee cup, holding it to his lips to drink the rejuvenating bitter liquid. He did not hear the opening of the large oak doors, and was startled when his boss greeted him loudly from behind, causing his hand to jerk and the still-hot contents of the mug to spill all over his lap.

"Ga!" Alfred leapt from the chair, swatting wildly at his crotch and the burning coffee that soaked his jeans, muttering a string of profanities. Clearly his Boss couldn't have picked a better moment to spontaneously appear.

After the coffee had cooled down, leaving a suspicious moist area on the front of his pants, Alfred gave up trying to wipe it off and acknowledged Ronald Regan's raised eyebrow with a bashful smile. "Hey Boss!" He said, shuffling awkwardly around the chair in a failing attempt to hide the glaringly obvious stain on his crotch. "Did you get all that…er, paperwork done?"

"Yeah, got everything all good n' ready." The ex-movie-star smiled warmly at his country, tanned skin crinkling around the corners of his eyes. "In fact that _paperwork_ is the thing I wanted to talk to you about."

_Oh boy…_ Alfred thought. The boredom was coming. No matter how awesome a guy his boss was, all politicians were dull and boring creatures. Though for his boss's sake, Alfred gave the President an interested look. "Talk away, Boss." He said. He could feel his brain already beginning to shut down.

"Well, I've been talking a little bit with the USSR's new…uh…President, Mikhail Gorbachev, and he made us a deal." Seeing the hardened gaze America gave him at the mention of the Nation's rival Super Power, the president's next words came out in a rush. "He announced that the Soviet Union would stop displaying INFs to Western Europe as long as we agree to disarm our missiles too. This…uh, proposal will have to be talked about by both Gorbachev and I and you and Russia so we decided to have four meetings to discuss this and maybe even better relations."

Alfred's face became livid, soft blue eyes hardening to ice, lips pressing into a tight line. The surprised president could actually see the muscles along the Nation's jaw harden as they gnashed together. Contrary to his normal happy-go-lucky aurora, an angry America was actually quite terrifying. Regan resisted the urge to take a nervous step backward to distance himself from the furious Alfred.

"_What?_" Alfred spat. "Meeting? Talking? With _Russia?_" The president opened his mouth to speak but America quickly cut him off. "What the hell! I _hate_ Russia! You call him the focus of evil! How could you– why…what…how-"

Regan could hear Alfred's breath catch up and the anger leave his tone as his speech slowed. Since he seemed to be cooling off, the president took this as a moment to speak. "Alfred," He said. His tone was hard, eyes serious, "I need you to be a good sport about all of this. Believe me; I don't like it any more than you do but Gorbachev is a new type of communist. Some of the legislation he's passing is leaning more toward capitalism and I think that if we could establish good relations with a guy like him in office _now_, then maybe we could have a shot at ending this whole damn thing."

"What if I don't want to end it?" America shot back. "I don't care if I have to nuke half the fucking globe! I wanna kill that commie bastard!"

Ivan sat in his favorite chair, sighing happily as he felt his body sink into the cushy leather seat. A steaming cup of tea was nestled between his cold hands. The eastern nation closed his violet eyes as he sank back into the chair, enjoying in the warmth of the tea against his frigid skin. A skinny brown-haired Nation burst in the room at that moment, disrupting Ivan from his peace.

"M-Mr. Russia, s-sir!" The smaller Nation cried, stuttering and trembling in Ivan's intimidating aurora. "B-b-boss G-Gorbach-chev wants t-to see you, sir!"

Ivan gave an exasperated sigh and set his tea cup and saucer on a beautifully crafted stand. His violet eyes regarded the Lithuanian coldly. "Does he now?" His tone was flat. Then, the tall Nation suddenly stood. "Well, if I must, I must I suppose. The Boss's wish is my command, nyet?"

"I guess, sir" Lithuania's form relaxed slightly at Ivan's change in tone, yet he tensed again when he passed him, his wide shoulders making their arms brush.

Ivan didn't bother knocking at the president's office door. Instead, he barged into the room as if he owned the place – which he technically did. The sudden commotion startled his boss, causing him to jump and his hands to flutter momentarily before he calmed slightly, seeing who had entered.

"Russia," Mikhail Gorbachev acknowledged the white haired Nation. Like Lithuania, his posture was tense and he looked on to the Soviet power with caution and a trace of fear. "I would like to speak with you if you don't mind, of course."

"Da, Mikhail. I am aware."

Ivan had mixed feelings about his current Boss. Most of his bosses as of late had been cruel and selfish beings. Often times they thought themselves above Ivan, using him as a vehicle of which they could gain more power, abusing him and forcing him to satisfy their every desire. Gorbachev however, was different. He seemed _afraid_ of Russia. When he spoke to the personified Nation, he never yelled. He treated Ivan with reverence, as if he were some sort of precious creature and Ivan distrusted him because of it. He also didn't understand Gorbachev's policies. He distrusted Glasnost and Perestroika. He regarded both ideas as capitalist, for they closely resembled the ideals of his most hated enemy; The United States of America and it angered him. Yet his people seemed _happy_ and that was one thing he liked. For the first time in centuries, his people praised their leader, and it wasn't out of fear as it was under Stalin and Khrushchev, but because he allotted them freedoms that his people had never known. They were even allowed to denounce him in public if they so chose. It upset Ivan terribly that his children should be allowed to act so carelessly without the respect for power they ought to have, but at least they were happy. That was the only thing he wanted for his people, for his country; happiness.

"I have made a deal with the American president." Gorbachev began, watching Russia carefully. The silver haired Nation tensed, eyes blazing with a mad light.

"Простите?" Ivan asked, a calm child-like tone crept into his words, a tone he was known to use when extremely angry or agitated. "We do not speak that name, da?"

The Russian president was all but quivering in his seat, but he continued to speak. "Y-yes Russia. I know that you dislike America- "

"_hate" _

"в порядке. But I need you to cooperate and listen." Gorbachev regained his composure, and his eyes even held a little irritation as he overcame Russia's unsettling air to control the situation and say what he had to. It worked and Russia fell quiet. "спасибо. Anyway, Mr. Regan and I agreed to limit the production of INFs and we set four meetings set in four different locations to do so. You and America must also be present and I must insist that you keep your composure and refrain from fighting with him while the meetings are in session. Would you do that?"

Russia thought for a moment before speaking; putting his forefinger to his lips as he considered the request. He then sighed. "Da," He said, "but I do not promise to like it."

A relieved expression washed over Gorbachev's face. "Спасибо Иван."

Russia gave his Boss a small smile, violet eyes sparkling oddly as he left. When the door closed behind him, the Russian president slumped back into his chair, shaking his head. "Иисус…" he muttered.

"…and so that's about it." Alfred concluded his summary of the meeting with his boss to his twin brother. He sat at Mathew's kitchen table with a messy plate of syrup sitting in front of him, watching with impatient eyes as the Canadian bent busily over a mixing bowl. "Hurry up, Mattie! I'm hungry!"

"Why don't you help then?" Canada grumbled quietly. He didn't dare voice his protest any louder than a whisper, for his brother wouldn't hesitate to box his ears.

"Because I'm the hero!" Alfred piped. By now he had crept over to the counter and was irritating his brother by sticking a lithe finger into the mixing bowl to steal some of the rich batter Mathew was silently mixing.

"Hey…don't…" Mathew gave up the protest when America withdrew his finger from the bowl, laden with batter, and stuck it into the gaping hole that was his mouth.

"So, Mattie I think I need some good ol' brotherly advice." Alfred said as he watched the unnaturally passive Nation pour scoup-fulls of batter onto a sizzling frying pan. "What should I do? I really really _really_ don't wanna go to these stupid Summit Meetings. There's like a million of them! And besides, Russia's a total creep! I don't talk to him, he doesn't talk to me. We flip each other off in the hallways and put missiles in each other's yards as pranks but that's it! I don't fucking care if freaking Gorbackoff or whatever is 'slightly capitalist' or whatever! I just really don't wanna do this, Mattie."

"Well, you could at least try going to the first one." Mathew kept his focus on the stove as he spoke, absentmindedly pushing the cooking pancakes around the pan with his spatula. "Russia's boss is making an effort to be civil for the first time since he gave you Alaska. It would be horribly rude to refuse."

"Well yeah, but I'm sure ol' Braginski didn't have much of a say either. He'll probably like stab me with an icicle or something."

"I'm sure the first meeting will be a little awkward." Mathew then grumbled quietly as Alfred snatched the pancakes he had just taken off the grill before he could butter them. "Don't you want butter or syrup?" he asked. The slightest hint of irritation colored his tone.

"Oh yeah…" Alfred shoved the plate into his brother's chest. "Here ya go. Anyway, I guess I kinda have to go to the damn meetings…but I'm not promising that I'll play nice or anything." He then grimaced as he remembered a request his boss made at the end of their meeting.

"What?" Canada asked, leaving the kitchen to place the plate of now-buttered and syruped pancakes on the table. His American brother followed the steaming trial like a bloodhound and Mattie quickly took his stack before the entire plate disappeared down his brother's great maw.

America sat, blushing furiously as he took the left over pancakes. "Regan's making me…I-I have to dress…_nicely_."

The maple leaf Nation gave a quiet laugh. His brother really did need a reality check at times, or a re-sorting of his priorities. "So?" He said, stabbing into one of the fluffy pancakes with a fork. "We'll just have to make you a suit."

Ivan lay on a sofa. His violet eyes stared straight forward at the ceiling above him as he lay on his back, hugging a snowflake pillow fiercely against his chest.

"What do you think of it, Leit?" He asked, voice barely audible. "What do you think of Boss's decision?" His voice had a slightly unstable ring to it.

"I find Mr. Gorbachev's decision very interesting." The Baltic state chose his words with care, making sure to not upset the powerful and already unstable nation. "But perhaps it is for the best, ne? You and America were close once. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to ease tensions." Lithuania realized then that his hands were trembling, jostling the clipboard he held. He held his breath as he waited for Russia's reaction. He prayed that he Communist nation wouldn't be angry with him…

To his immense relief, Russia sighed. "Da, Leit. I suppose." He said, shutting his violet eyes. "But I wonder what America's intentions are. Surely he is much too dense to suggest cooperation…and I am much to stubborn to comply. I suppose that is one thing he and I have in common…stubbornness. Still, I am weary dear Leit. I wonder what that child is planning…"

"Uhh…Mr. Russia?" Lithuania asked nervously, "this is just a suggestion but maybe he – er – America actually _wants_ to work things out. What if, I could be wrong of course, but what if America wants to make peace?"

The Russian looked thoroughly confused by this idea. "But what could he gain from that, Leit?" He asked. "My economy has never been healthier. Both our factories make way more profit by making missiles than commercial items."

"I have no idea why he's doing this. But you are accompanying the Boss to the meetings, ne?"

"Da." Ivan replied. His voice sounded distant as he watched his large fingers play with the tassel on the edge of the pillow he held. "What choice do I have, dear Leit?"

* * *

_Well there you are. I hope it's not terrible...  
I love seeing the relationship between the nations and their bosses. I've always thought Regan and America would be BFFs. They're so alike!  
I also love the brotherly relationships between the characters. Canada is probably closest to America and seems to me the one he would turn to for advice (and pancakes) and it seems like Lithuania is the same for Russia. Soo cute! 3 _

_**Простите? **(excuse me?) _

_**в порядке **(alright) _

_**спасибо **(thankyou) _

_** Иван** (Ivan) _

_**Иисус** (Jesus)_

_These may be wrong (I got them off google translate haha) but hopefully they're close to accurate. Corrections are welcome. _

_Please review!  
_


	2. Switzerland Summit 1

_yellow! So, this chapter was going to be the first meeting but I decided to have a little fun before getting down to business (starts singing 'Be a man' from Mulan). The first Summit Meeting was held in Geneva, Switzerland on November 19th, 1985...so I got to have a little fun with Vash.  
Please tell me if the switching from country names to human names is annoying/confusing. I don't like always referring to them by their country names but sometimes human names don't seem appropriate (especially when they're will their bosses or in a political situation). During the meetings they will be referred to by country names. Other times I just switch on and off so please tell me if it makes the story messy or something. :D _

_**Disclaimer and warnings still stand from Ch1. **_

_Oh! And this story is now changed to Mature. Just FYI.**  
**_

* * *

America scowled at his reflection in the mirror as Canada fluttered around him, fitting the suit that he would be made to wear to the meeting. Said meeting was fast approaching and America was dreading every moment, as each passing day brought contact with Russia closer and closer.

"OW!" He yelped, clutching his arm as a pin stabbed into him.

"Sorry sorry sorry!" His brother apologized, hands fluttering in the air as he searched for the offending pin.

"Watch where you stick those!"

"I'm sorry!" Canada pulled the pin out of his brother's arm and set in back in its place. He went back to fitting the jacket, pinning the fine black fabric in place, adjusting, and re-pinning, though was careful to not repeat the previous accident.

"What do you think?" he asked, stepping back from his twin to view his work.

"I look like James Bond." America said, grinning at his reflection. He then laced his fingers together, extending his forefingers and aiming at Canada as if he were holding a gun. "My name is Jones…Alfred F. Jones."

Canada smiled and laughed quietly at his "older" brother's antics. "I'm glad you like it."

"It's alright." America said, turning to examine himself in the mirror at every angle. "It totally sucks that I have to wear it for _Russia_ but I do look pretty damn cool."

"In speaking of Russia, that meeting's coming up soon. You ready?"

"Ugh…I know, I know. I don't think I'll ever be ready."

"The only thing we have to fear is fear its self, eh," Canada quoted one of America's former bosses, much to his brother's annoyance.

"I'm not afraid of him ok!" America snapped as Canada un-pinned the jacket, laying the pieces aside to be sewn. "We're at freaking war! I hate him!"

"Mmhmm. Whatever you say, bro."

The first Summit Meeting was only a week away and there was still much to prepare. Alfred's boss was constantly on the phone with Gorbachev or Switzerland's boss, and occasionally the two rival nations were forced to speak. Their conversations never did last long. Usually only a few clipped sentences were exchanged when one message or another _had_ to be conveyed and they almost always ended abruptly without a goodbye.

To show his disapproval, America even went as far as giving his boss the silent treatment whenever the meetings were brought up. Their flight to Switzerland was only hours away when Regan approached America one night as he was reluctantly packing his American flag-themed suitcase.

In the Nation's bedroom, which had been built with the White House upon George Washington's request, the Republican president found his country tossing articles of clothing into his suitcase from across the room. America's face was the pinnacle of concentration, lips drawn into a thin line, blue eyes hard and devoid of emotion as he threw needed belongings into the bag. Regan, feeling awkward, cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. America didn't look at his boss, though his eyes came back to life and he smiled. He balled up a pair of American-flagged boxers and tossed them into the suitcase like a basketball.

"What's up, Boss?" He asked, closing the stuffed suitcase.

"We're leaving early tomorrow morning." The president said, watching his country curse as he struggled with his over-stuffed baggage.

"Great," Alfred growled, giving up on trying to push the lid closed, sitting on it instead. "Can you zip this?"

As he assisted America with his luggage, Regan couldn't help thinking how young the Nation seemed to him. Sometimes he couldn't help thinking of him as his own son.

"Anyway," Regan said, stepping back and folding his hands behind his back. "I would appreciate it if during these meetings you could try to be tolerant of Russia." America rolled his eyes and grimaced. The action reminded Regan of a teenager. "You don't have to have lunch with the man, Alfred. Just smile and nod and keep your hands to yourself."

"Do I have to _smile_?"

Now it was Regan who rolled his eyes. "No, just be civil, business like. This meeting is very important to us as well as the USSR. Let's get through it without any bloodshed, ok?"

Alfred sighed, "Fine."

_So much to do, so much to do!_ Switzerland thought as he fussed around his house, cleaning and re-cleaning, organizing documents and calling up local hotels to get everything ready for the important meeting that was only two days away. He was trying to be neutral in this situation, but it was difficult when a madly grinning Russia was demanding one thing from you and America the other.

"Why couldn't they have their meetings in their own countries?" He complained aloud to his broom.

Ivan stared out the window, watching the Baltic's ghostly reflections move frantically around the room, stuffing things Ivan would need for his trip into a large black duffel bag. Switzerland would be fun. He hadn't been there in ages and was excited to see Vash again. He watched the snow collect on Moscow's streets, dreaming about Switzerland, and Vash, and…_America_. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat and thick fingers dug into the windowsill, causing the wood to crack and splinters to stab his flesh. _America..._ he thought of how satisfying it would be to break those glasses, to crush that smiling face…to dominate that body. He thought of how he would break him down; make America beg beneath him as Ivan would thrust mercilessly into his body. He would do it dry too. He imagined America's screams from the pain of being ripped wide open. So satisfying, those mental pictures of Alfred's face, flushed red, azure eyes bulging, his mouth wide open as he screamed in pain. It was beautiful. Ivan whimpered, feeling himself grow hard. His violet eyes flashed over to the Baltic States, who had by now sensed the frightening aurora that surrounded Russia and had huddled together on the other side of the room, cowering in terror. Russia's lips twitched as a slow grin split his face. He extended a finger, beckoning to the terrified blob.

"Come here, Liet…" He purred. Estonia and Latvia shot worried looks at their "brother" as Lithuania stepped out of the huddle toward the grinning Russian.

It was two in the morning when the president's private jet left D.C. America dozed in his seat, drooling on the upholstery while Regan spent most of the flight preparing his notes and talking with the secret service men that tailed the president wherever he went. Eight hours and thirty minutes later, they landed in Geneva, Switzerland. A large crowd had gathered outside the plane, eager to greet the American president. Alfred could see Vash, impatiently waiting for them outside of the throng. It would take forever to move through the crowd.

Another jet landed not far from theirs, and from it emerged Gorbachev and a grinning Russia. They were instantly confronted with a large crowd of their own and the Russian president smiled kindly, signing autographs and taking pictures just as the American leader had done. Alfred peered at his foe through the throng of human bodies, watching his every move with loathing. Ivan's gaze flickered to his. The force of it shot through the crowds of people and cut into Alfred like an icicle. Such hatred in those purple eyes, though it wasn't as if that hate was not returned in the glare Alfred shot back.

It was a full hour before the two Nations cleared their fans and reached the irritated Swiss Nation. The two presidents politely nodded and shook hands while their countries refused to meet the others eyes. They were shown to their separate cars and Vash got into his outside the airport to guide them to their hotel.

To America's disappointment, upon their arrival at the hotel, his boss immediately went to his suite to unpack and take a nap. Having slept for the duration of their eight-and-a-half hour flight, Alfred was awake and ready to go exploring. After exploring his suite and jumping on the bed to test the spring of the mattress, he grew bored and took to watching Russia from the balcony.

Though Gorbachev had gone inside right away, Russia had stayed on the sidewalk, looking at the gardens around the hotel from what America could tell. _God, what a freak_, he thought, watching Russia turn to speak with a group of tourists waiting for a cab, and then laughing when they scuttled away from the scarf-wearing Nation. Russia turned to go indoors and America could no longer see him. Taking this as a perfect opportunity for a game of _secret agent_, America ran to his suitcase and changed into all black clothing and slipped out into the hallway. He passed the elevator and ran to the magnificent staircase that wound up all of the hotels five stories. Their rooms were on the fourth floor and from where he stood, he had a good view of the lobby and his foe. Alfred smirked, and then gasped when the Russian turned in his direction, ducking to hide behind a fake plant of some kind.

Ivan took the stairs to his room. They were so beautifully crafted he felt obligated to walk up them. The elevator only made him feel weak and dependent on unnecessary inventions. When provided a choice, he always took the stairs. He climbed all the way up to the fourth floor and stepped into the hallway, stopping to fiddle with a potted plant. Alfred saw the Russian's large boots inches away from the pot and when he looked up, he saw the underside of Russia's chin. What the hell was he doing? Alfred watched as a gloved hand played with the plant's fake leaves. He didn't dare breathe.

Suddenly, an itch grew in Alfred's nostril. He felt it grow as a sneeze began to build. Why did this always seem to happen? He couldn't hold it back. He had heard stories about people's eyes exploding out of their heads from holding in sneezes, but he'd rather have his head explode than be spotted by his nemesis. He tried to stifle it but the sneeze came out in a loud _achoo!_ Russia had obviously heard the noise and looked down through the mess of artificial leaves to gaze at America. Surprise showed in his violet eyes for only a moment before puzzlement took its place.

"What are you doing, Америка?" Ivan asked. His tone was soft and curious, and he spoke slowly as if dealing with a small child or mental handicap.

"U-uh…nothing…" Alfred glowered at the innocently smiling Nation above him. He stood to his full height, for kneeling before Russia would mean he was surrendering or something stupid and unheroic like that. "Mind your own damn business, _Braginski_."

Ivan tilted his head to the side as if confused. "Hmm…I think you should speak for yourself, da?"

"And why would you think that, _da?_"

Just before Ivan was about to rip the American's arms off, a hand appeared on his shoulder. "Nu, pozvolyaet sohranitʹ argumenty dlya soveshchaniĭ," The president of Russia said, pulling Ivan away. "It's a pleasure to see you, Mr. Amerika. I hope you are well, yes?"

America nodded stiffly, keeping his eyes fixed on Russia's glaring figure. "Yes, Mr. Gorbachev. I'm doing just peachy."

Russia's boss chuckled. "Good, good. Would you please pass my greetings to Mr. Regan?"

"Sure thing."

"I shall see you both tomorrow." The shorter, rounder man said, leading his country away from America. "We will have, uh…how do you say…a busy day, yes?"

Alfred gave the man a tight smile before turning away from them to walk down to the lobby. There was much exploring he still had to do.

The cold November air cut through Alfred's clothes as he walked. He had taken a cab to Vash's house and begged the Swiss Nation to give him a tour of the city. After much pleading and begging from Alfred _and _Lilly, the antisocial Nation grudgingly agreed.

Naturally, Alfred wanted to see _everything_. He and Lilly drug Vash all around Geneva, demanding him to buy them souvenirs and foods.

"Brother! Brother! I want some chocolate!" Lichtenstein chirped, tugging on Switzerland's sleeve as they passed by a candy shop.

"Oh! I love chocolate!" America said, joining Lilly in pleading with the neutral nation as if he were their father.

Vash rolled his eyes. "But Lilly, you have my chocolate every day."

"Yeah, but I want some more!" Lilly whined, "and Al needs to try some!"

Vash agreed and as they exited the store with more chocolate than Alfred could eat in a month, the tiny female nation had another great idea.

"Bother! Brother! Let's show America the Maison Tavel!" Lichtenstein squealed, grabbing onto Switzerland's hand and dragging him behind her. America had to jog to catch up.

"Maison Tavel is Geneva's oldest building." Vash recited the history of the building in a dull monotone. His flat, toneless voice was close to lulling his sister to sleep and America was off on his own exploring the building, already bored. "Built in the middle ages, this building is still considered an architectural tribute to everyday life in the medieval period…"

At dusk, Switzerland returned to his house exhausted and irritable, carrying a sleeping Lichtenstein. Alfred nearly crawled up to his suite and fell into his bed, falling asleep as soon as his amber head hit the pillow. Memories of that day and thoughts of tomorrow floated in and out of his sleepy mind like fog.

* * *

_Well...I hope this isn't terrible. Sorry about the end...I got a little impatient and it's pretty late. If it's absolutely horrendous, tell me and I shall fix it. _

Америка: _America_

Nu, pozvolyaet sohranitʹ argumenty dlya soveshchaniĭ :_ Come, let's save arguments for the meetings. _


	3. The First Steps

_Sorry it's been awhile since my last update...wow it's been almost a month. I've had writer's block like you wouldn't believe and last week I was crazy busy cause I went to METAL MAYHEM! _

_anyway, I had alot of struggles with this chapter so I really hope you like it! _

_**Chapter warnings:** violence. and Prussia :D _

_enjoy!  
_

* * *

Alfred woke to his alarm in a daze. It took him a full twenty minutes and two rounds of hitting _snooze_ before he remembered why his alarm was set for 6:00 in the morning and what he was now running late for.

"Ahhh…stupid boss…stupid meetings…stupid fucking Russian…" He grumbled irritably as he lazily rolled out of his enticing, warm bed and shuffled to the kitchenette to make some espresso. _Fuck no time for espresso…_ He turned back around and stared at the large wardrobe.

The suit.

The new suit.

He had to wear it for_ Russia_. _No. Not for Russia…for Boss. Yeah, I'm dressing like James Bond for Ron._ Alfred then shook his head to get rid of the weird gay implications his thoughts brought to that. He was dressing awesome for the ladies.

After receiving a phone call from a very distressed Ronald Regan, something about everyone already being somewhere and things not starting out smoothly and how it was all his fault, America was in a cab headed for the Fleur d'Eau, after a quick stop at McDonalds for an egg Mcmuffin and coffee of course. Upon reaching the large old building, he nearly flew from the car before it stopped moving, stumbling up to the entrance where a scowling Switzerland was tapping his foot impatiently.

"Get your ass in there!" He hissed under his breath, pulling America by the collar of his _brand _new suit up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway and shoving the tardy Nation through the door and shutting it quickly behind him. Immediately, all eyes in the room flickered to America's fidgeting form in front of the door. He cleared his throat loudly, eliciting more stares from the Soviet and American ambassadors that by now had been waiting ten minutes for the late Nation's arrival.

"S-sorry everyone," He said. "I, uh… over slept."

"Just sit down America," His boss sat at the table with his head in his hands, looking embarrassed and irritated.

"Yes, boss."

The first half of the meeting seemed to be making little to no progress. Both presidents were stubborn and steadfast in their beliefs, and their countries did little to decrease the unbearable tension that kept the atmosphere electrified. Russia wanted America to abandon his awesome space laser idea to which both president and Nation refused and America spent the entirety of the meeting lecturing Russia on human rights. By afternoon, nothing was accomplished and the meeting was adjourned for an early lunch break. The human ambassadors fled the room immediately, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere, leaving the two presidents eyeing their nations carefully. Neither wanted to leave the two countries alone with each other.

Gorbachev beckoned to Russia, moving towards the door. "Nu Ivan, daĭ prostimsya s nashimi intsidenta." The tall Nation grudgingly complied, but not after giving his American rival a cold glare and a taunting smirk.

"Do try to get by while I'm gone, dorogoĭ." He leered, giving the smaller country an infuriating wink before turning on his heel to follow his boss out the door. Alfred could do nothing but watch Ivan's tall receding back while a burning knot of rage rolled in his gut and ate away at his insides. The urge to run after the Russian and beat him black and blue was overwhelming. Just as he was about to give in to the carnal desire, a strong hand descended onto his tense shoulder, freezing his movements.

"Calm down, America." Regan's voice was warning and left no room for argument. "This meeting is hard enough without the two of you attempting to kill each other every damn chance you get. There will be no more words or even looks from you two until this meeting is over, understand?"

Alfred slowly allowed his muscles to relax, though he refused to soften the hateful gaze he gave the door through which his enemy had passed.

* * *

Ivan had had a pleasant lunch. He had taken a stroll through the gardens around the building and found a nice little restraint to eat at. The sky was cloudless and blue and the air was warm. He walked everywhere, wanting to spend every moment he could in the rare weather. The allotted hour flew by faster than the Russian expected and he was sad to leave the park bench he found in the middle of a sunflower patch. Skipping back inside, he hummed an old Russian folk tune quietly to himself as he made his way to the conference room, greeting passing humans with a wide grin and laughing softly when they scurried away. When he returned to the conference room, it was empty. He took his seat, feeling content as he sipped his vodka. Aside from America and his president's stubbornness, the meeting was going quite well. Even if nothing was accomplished between him and Alfred, he didn't mind the change in scenery.

Alfred returned to the meeting room happily holding a McDonalds burger and fries. The allowed break time had been strictly one hour and it had taken him half the time to find a decent burger joint in the small Swiss town, fifteen minutes of waiting in a line, and then five to wait for his Big Mac, large fry, and milkshake. Nonetheless, the errand was totally worth it. He burst into the meeting room as loudly as possible, slighty surprised to find it completely empty save for his least favorite nation in the whole word.

"Mmfnmf…hey commie!" The sound of Alfred's voice muffled by a cheese burger grated on Ivan's nerves like finger nails scraping on chalkboard. A dangerous gleam showed in his violet eyes as his glutinous enemy casually sat down in front of him, plopping a bag of fast food on the table in front of him. The grease that disgusting food contained was enough to cover an oil spill.

"Hello Америка." He spat through his teeth. "Enjoying your toxic waste are you?"

Alfred's bright blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he stuffed a handful of French fries into his empty mouth. "I don' know wha' ya mean. Aren' you th' one who liveths in a nuclear hole?"

A deep growl rumbled in Ivan's throat and his left eye twitched uncontrollably, the angry tremors continuing down to envelop the rest of his body. Alfred watched the whole thing in awe; burger paused at the entrance of his gaping mouth.

"KOLKOLKOL!" The Russian nation cried, flying across the table and tackling Alfred to the ground, breaking his chair.

"Ooof! W-what the fuck, Russia? OW! G-get off me!" America thrashed against the larger Nation as much as he could. Russia was clawing and biting at him and the weight of his heavy body crushing his solar plexus made it hard to breathe.

"Hnn-nrrrg…UH!" After much flailing, America's hands finally found purchase on Russia's large chest and with a grunt he shoved the Soviet off of him, and rolled over on top of him.

"Aha!" he cried triumphantly, swinging at Russia's face to make it as bruised as his own, "How does it feel to be dominated, commie?"

"Unf! You..wil…_never_…dominate…_MOTHER RUSSIA!_" Russia stood suddenly, sending the smaller nation flying into the conference table. America barely had a chance to wince at the edge of the table that now pressed painfully into his kidneys before Russia came at him again, aiming to choke his throat. Alfred twisted, rolling away from the crazy nation, and seized his arms, twisting them painfully behind his back, and pressing the squirming Russian's body against down on the table.

"Yeah! That's right! Beg for mercy you red bastard!" America yelled triumphantly, a dominate gleam flashing across his azure eyes.

Just then as if on cue, the door to the conference room crashed open and both presidents headed by a gun-waving Switzerland stumbled upon the scene.

Switzerland raised his pistol in the air and fired. The bang startled the fighting nations enough for them to momentarily freeze, America's hands stopped mid-strangle on Russia's throat. Russia's were halted at the American's face, poised to claw at the skin.

"Stop this right here!" Switzerland's authoritive voice boomed. He lowered his gun, pointing it at Russia and America. The two nations disengaged and stepped away from each other immediately.

"Russia, America; you two immature idiots are herebye expelled from my house. Now _move_!" The trigger-happy nation motioned to the door with his gun and his guests were quick to follow the weapon's movements. The Swiss man ushered them out the door quickly before turning to the two baffled presidents.

"I am terribly sorry messieurs, but as the nation of Switzerland, I cannot allow these two to stay a moment longer in my land if they are to continue this…irrational behavior." He spoke briskly in a firm tone that left no room for argument. The presidents nodded and apologized, promising to pay for the damage and left the building immediately, dragging their countries along like uncooperative children, after first having to breakup yet another fist fight that started in the hallway after their dismissal.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" The middle-aged president roared as he paced madly up and down the length of his cabin

"Me? _Russia_ was the one who freaking _jumped_ me! The guy fights like a fucking animal!"

"Yes, but you must have done _something_ to provoke him! Alfred, do you listen at all?" The president now sat with his face in his hands at the desk in the office on their private government plane.

America was at a loss for what to say. It was true that he insulted Russia, and to be honest he had wanted a fight the moment he walked in the conference room. But he wasn't about to let his angry boss know that. So he just sat in his chair in silence, listening to his boss go on and on about him, much like how England had done back in his colonial days….and still did for that matter.

"Do you have any idea how important these meetings are? Do you have any clue? I know most of the states are still suspicious of the Soviets and do not support my plan, and the opinion of the United States is undoubtedly yours as well, but as I've asked before; if you could at least cooperate and trust me, I think things will work out."

America shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired, and pissed off and did not need his boss lecturing him like England right now. "Yeah, whatever. See you in the morning, boss." He grumbled, leaving for his cabin.

* * *

Russia's house was crowded and noisey as it usually was, and he rather liked it. Compared to how it was before; cold, big, and empty. It was even larger now, having been enlarged due to the fast growth of Russia's Soviet family, but it somehow it felt more…whole. The warmth of so many countries and their bright young eyes and fascinating cultures made his home a paradise for Russia instead of the nightmare it used to be.

He sat in his favorite chair by the fire, sipping his spiked coffee and reading a very promising book in his living room – which had been expanded when he began building his great, new nation. The room was completely empty; it always seemed to be when Russia entered the room. He could never understand why. He didn't mind the solitude though. He was used to it after all. Besides, he could hear the happy sounds of his housemates well enough in the other rooms of the large house they shared. His _children_…

Russia closed his eyes, humming contentedly. He was so happy. Everything was perfect, just as it should be.

Just then, Prussia popped his pale head into the room, red eyes narrowing when they saw his captor. Russia, hearing a grumble, opened his eyes to find the Eastern brother of Germany standing in the doorway with a less-than-pleased expression.

"Prussia!" He greeted the crude albino with a pleasant smile. "What can mother Russia do for you, malenʹkiĭ zaĭchik?"

Prussia's face flushed a deep scarlet and he growled at the pet name. "When do I get Gillbird back?" The former Empire demanded through his teeth.

"When you finally realize that mother Russia will take care of you and you don't need to run from me anymore, solnyshko." Prussia (aka East Germany) gave Russia the most trouble out of all his 'children'. He was clearly not happy living under mother Russia's roof. He would refuse to eat at the big table with the rest of the 'family', he was the loudest and crudest nation in the USSR, even beating France in some respects, and to Russia's greatest annoyance, frequently broke into his alcohol stash, stealing his vodka when beer wasn't provide for him. The man was a brat, and he needed to be punished. He never learned from the previous…attempts, so Russia resorted to taking away his most adored possession; his chick.

"I'll tell West about this!" Prussia threatened, "He could take your frozen ass out any day! He almost did!"

Russia put a hand to his mouth chuckling in amusement. "But your брат hasn't spoken to you in over thirty years, moĭ rebenok. It would be…unlikely for him to listen to you now ,da."

"That's because you wont let me see him, du Arschloch!" By this time, the German's nose nearly touched Russia's as he yelled at his captor, body trembling with rage. "I've been asking you for decades and you don't even let me write to mein kleinen Bruder! He probably hates me or something…though no one hates the awesome Prussia…have you checked the mail yet?"

"Da. And there are no letters from your брат, comrade. Now please leave me be. I am trying to enjoy my book, da." Actually that was a lie. Prussia's younger brother had been sending him letters every week since the Berlin Wall's construction, and Russia had seen that each and every one had been burned. The most recent one was currently hidden in his coat pocket, and Russia struggled to keep it hidden. With a huff, the albino nation turned on his heel and left the room, then suddenly stopped at the door way, paused a moment, and turned back to face the Russian with a smug smile on his lips. He had a brilliant idea….

"So, Ivan." He began, approaching the larger nation's chair casually. "How was that _meeting_ with good ol' America? You never did tell us…"

It had been over a month since the disaster in Geneva and the whole ordeal had been a taboo subject amongst the nations of the USSR. Russia's boss had called America in apology, since Russia refused to speak to the self-proclaimed hero and there were apologies and damage payments to be made to Switzerland and his boss – who was just as furious. The whole thing was extremely embarrassing and Russia had made a point to block the memory until Prussia, due to his rude and nosy nature, had to bring it up. Russia regarded the German coolly.

"The meeting went fine, da." He said stiffly, fighting down a sudden _kolkolkol_.

Prussia raised his eyebrows in a very irritating fashion, leaning over the back of Russia's chair and draping his arms over his shoulders. "Hmm…is that so?" he asked skeptically. "Now why does the awesome me think you are lying?"

"Shtraf." Russia sighed. "The meeting with Amerika went terribly wrong. The whole time I had to listen to his stupid ideas and lies. He is so stubborn! I could not persuade him to agree to anything. After break, that capitalist pig provoked me and we got in a fight and then Switzerland kicked us out of his house. Boss keeps saying things will get better, but I cannot bring myself to believe him. I do not know what to do about Amerika…"

"I think Dr. Prussia knows what your problem is…" Prussia leered.

"Da? And what is my problem, comrade?"

Prussia rounded the chair to face Russia, red eyes sparkling confidently. He put his hands on his hips and stood like that for a while before pointing at Russia and blurting out his next words.

"I think you and America need to fuck!"

Russia stared at the German incredulously. "_Chto?"_

"You heard me, comrade. Don't think the awesome Prussia is as blind and dense as you! Believe me, you two want each other so bad, it's painful to watch…and painfully obvious. Why do you think they're all calling this the _cold war_? Next meeting, just drag him into a closet or something and fuck him senseless! No one has to know about it…except me of course. Take my word for it, Slov; this UST stuff doesn't just go away. You need to deal with it and it's best to take care of these things ASAP. You shouldn't have even let this go on for this long…"

"Do you really think so?" Russia's violet eyes were actually wide open and full of interest. He was _listening!_ Prussia decided to make the most of this rare moment. He now had something to brag about to everyone…and possible blackmail for later use…Hungary would _love_ him and maybe even stop beating him with that frying pan of hers.

"Of course!" He cried, quivering with excitement. This was going to be the biggest gossip since the Vietnam war! "Why would I lie to the world's biggest superpower?"

Russia giggled at the title…which was creepy but at least he was taking Prussia's awesome advice and not beating his head with that pipe of his like usual. "Well if you insist, comrade, I will think on it…and maybe something will be done next time I meet with the American swine." With that, the Russian stood and set his book aside. "Spasibo, Prussia."

"Uh…yeah. Don't mention it, big guy." He was just about to let Russia leave when he remembered one thing. "Oh, and where's Gillbird?"

"With Belarus." Russia said with a small giggle. "I suggest you go fetch him."

"GILLBIRDDD!" Prussia cried out in terror and fled the room, running to save his beloved pet from Russia's deranged sister.

Russia laughed at the Prussian's exit and rached into his coat pocket, pulling a slightly ruffled but otherwise un-harmed Gillbird and placing the little bird gently on the back of his chair. Prussia would find his precious pet eventually. Setting the albino off was just so much fun.

* * *

_Historically, the Geneva Summit meeting did not go well. America's "space laser" idea was Regan's SDI program (nicknamed Star Wars). Neither president could agree on anything at first, though some negotiations were possible and Regan brought up the Soviet Union's human rights issues for the first time. They were never kicked out of Switzerland but I had fun writting it. :D_

_**Translations:**_

_Nu Ivan, daĭ prostimsya s nashimi intsidenta = come Ivan, let us part without incident _

dorogoĭ = _dear _

malenʹkiĭ zaĭchik = _little bunny_

solnyshko = _Little sun _

брат = _brother_

moĭ rebenok = _my child_

Shtraf = _fine _

_Chto = what _

Spasibo = _thankyou _

_Du Arschloch = you asshole/SOB/Bastard  
_

_**FYI:** East and West Germany were kept completely isolated from each other until the fall of the Berlin Wall in the 1990's. I was interviewing this woman I know from East Germany about growing up there and she said that she wasn't even allowed to go over to attend her grandparents funeral when they died. I always thought it must have been hard for the German brothers. Poor Prussia. _

_oh and the next chapter should have something lovely, fyi again.  
_


	4. Iceland Summit 2

_Howdy! Hmmm I'm happy that this story is finally coming along...I was having terrible writer's block for what seemed like forever but I feel that it has now passed!  
This chapter is...*cough* the reason that this story is now rated not T but _M_. like...seriously. This has to be the longest smut I've ever written in my life, and it's only my third attempt at smut so I really hope you're not scarred. _

_Plus I realized the merits of being newly 17~ I CAN WRITE NC-17 AND IT'S OK CAUSE I IS OF AGE! ...yeah I know that's really obvious but it made me happy to acknowledge it. _

_anywho, on with the show~  
(PS...the random bolded numbers = footnotes btw)_

* * *

_Practiced hands roamed over his exposed torso while heated lips locked with his in a passionate kiss, tongues tangling, teeth clicking. Alfred moaned as the mouth left his to travel south, towards the building heat in his aching length. His hands curled and twisted in course, silvery hair, back arching in need as the Russian's head moved further and further down…_

"_Mmm…Ivan…" _

America gasped, jerking awake. He flopped back down on the bed, panting heavily as he lay in the sweat soaked sheets. He looked down at his hand, wrapped around his erect member, then let his head fall back against the pillow, growling in frustration and removing his hand from his dripping cock, throwing it down against the mattress as if it were some disgusting creature.

"Wh-what…the…fuck?"

Sure, he'd had these dreams before, about Russia even. At the beginning of the Cold War he even told England about his disturbing fantasies. Yet since the mess in Switzerland five months ago, his dreams of Russia came more and more frequently, occurring up to as much as three times in one night. It's not like he was in love with the guy or anything, but it was true that he maybe lusted after Russia _once in a while_. After all, Ivan Braginski was rather beautiful with those wide lavender eyes and that weird silver-colored hair of his that was almost white but not quite, and those lips…

"Arrrg!" America slapped his hand over his eyes, trying to push Russia's smiling face out of his head. This was getting ridiculous. He had to do something, or else he might go insane…

That morning America drove to Canada's house. He hoped that by leaving his house, he could forget about the second meeting, which was fast approaching, and hopefully his weird dreams would go away for a couple nights.

"A-Alfred?" Mathew yawned, rubbing his eyes from under his glasses as he greeted the disheveled American on his doorstep. "You don't look so good. Is something wrong?"

America shoved past his twin, letting himself in without invitation. "Something wrong? With me? Why would you think that, Mattie?"

"I- well…I just…thought…uh…" Canada mumbled, hanging his head shamefully. America rolled his eyes and came to his brother's side, patting his shoulder.

"It's ok, bro! I was just kidding. No need to get all quiet and weird!" America laughed loudly, causing his passive twin to flinch, then his face fell. "You were right though…I'm-er- not doin' so hot."

It was a long moment before Canada replied. It wasn't like America at all to act this way. Even when something was wrong, he almost never told anyone and if he did, he still wore that large, idiotic smile of his. The way he looked now; lips pulled down in a rare frown, blue eyes rimmed with bags from lack of sleep, reminded him of the last time his optimistic twin looked this way; after 1812. **(1)**

"What's wrong, Al?" Canada led his brother into a messy living room. Clothes and hockey jerseys littered the floor and hung off of the furniture and large posters of hockey heroes lined the walls. The Canadian sat in an old suede armchair, the American on the couch. His twin fidgeted uncomfortably at the question.

"Ugh…I don't really want to talk about it, ok Mattie? Can I just crash here for a while? I kinda want to escape my boss right now."

"Uh, y-yeah. That's ok." Canada nodded in understanding and turned, heading for the kitchen. He knew his brother would tell him sooner or later. "I'm hungry. Do you want some pancakes?"

The two brothers spent the remainder of the day feasting on pancakes, which seemed to be the only food Canada was capable of making, and battling the afternoon and evening out in video games. America treated his brother to home-grilled burgers, which didn't turn out as well as he planned and after setting Canada's kitchen in flames, they resorted to going out and searching for a burger place instead.

Hours later, long after the sun had gone down, the two brothers lay sprawled across Canada's bedroom floor. America lay propped up on pillows and leaning against the bed, an empty bowl of popcorn sitting in his lap, while Canada lay curled on the floor, arms around a fluffy white polar bear. Corny music blared from the Television as credits continued to roll nonstop on the screen.

"Matt?" America mumbled groggily. "Hey yo, you awake?"

"Hmm? What's up Alfred?"

"I…um…I think I wanna tell ya why I'm here." America said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Shoot."

"So…remember a couple decades back…at the beginning of this whole Russia thing when I was…well…"

"Having dreams about him?" Canada finished.

"Yeah…well, since I saw him again at the-er-meeting, they…uh…they came back."

"But that was over five months ago."

"Yeah. I know."

"You mean you're still having them?"

"Like every night, man."

"oh…"

An awkward silence descended upon the brothers as the first rays of morning light crept into the eastern sky.

"Mathew?" America asked again after what felt like hours of silence.

"Eh?"

"I don't love him."

"I know."

"Matt?"

"What?"

"Tell anyone about this and I'll rip you a new one, kay?"

"No problem."

"Thanks bro."

And with that, both men fell asleep.

America stayed at Canada's house until the week of the second meeting. He had never told his boss he left the United States and by that time, a search party of Secret Service agents had been sent out to find the missing nation. Luckily, the young nation returned to the White House before the government agents had been able to locate him, though he wasn't completely saved from the wrath of his boss's irritation.

* * *

The second meeting was held in Reykjavik, Iceland and the slightly chilly, but otherwise mild October weather in DC contrasted greatly with the frigid storms that already covered the Icelandic ground with snow. It was so cold and dreary; America didn't even have the heart to bug Iceland to take him sightseeing. The first day, he did nothing but lie on his bed in a bundle of blankets and drink hot chocolate and refused to move until the morning of the meeting.

Throughout the entire meeting, Russia was acting strange. America couldn't put a finger on it, but something about the tall scarf-wearing man seemed off. He didn't even know why he bothered to care at all, but the strange observing gaze the larger Nation fixed upon him was seriously freaking him out. The look Russia gave him was not unlike how one might study a creature under a microscope, or how an artist might study a painting in a museum. Though no matter what that look was, it was making America's stomach twist and turn uncomfortably.

Russia watched America. He couldn't stop staring. Though he made sure to keep a solid, unemotional gaze fixed upon the American, in his head, his thoughts were spinning. How was he going to approach this? Back in the Hotel? During lunch? Now? Prussia had warned him to take care of this…condition as soon as possible and he didn't want to have to let it sit in his mind for another six months. Yes. It would have to be today.

He let America go his own way during lunch, taking the time to meditate and forget this little problem of his ever existed. It wasn't like he was ashamed of lusting after America. He knew it was nothing more than that, and didn't see the sense in hiding it like America most likely would have. He was, however, slightly nervous. He had to go about it carefully for his actions could be viewed as aggression by the younger, less mature country and could easily spark actual war. No he didn't want that. As much as he found the young, loud nation immature and gluttonous, he didn't want a war. It wasn't until after several drinks of vodka from his secret flask that he finally decided to take things up a notch.

At the meetings end, America had been the first to leave. This was day one of the two day meeting and he was already begging for its end. The hallways of the Höfði house **(2)** were completely empty; almost unnaturally so. Not even an Icelander was to be seen. All there was in that frightfully empty hall was the uncomfortable feeling that America was not entirely alone…

That weird sense of vulnerability increased to worrisome levels before, unable to stand it, America whirled around and found himself face-to-face with Russia.

"What do you want, Commie? Your people are that way." America pointed behind the Russian, to the exodus of Russian and American ambassadors from the meeting room. A slow grin split Russia's face in the creepiest smile America had ever seen.

"I know that, comrade." He nearly purred, a predatory gleam swimming in those lavender eyes. "Eto vam ya prishel k."

"Wha-" Before America could give his confusion voice, a pair of lips were suddenly crushing his own hard enough to make bruises. He fought against Russia's advances, pushing and biting and shoving. Russia didn't give up, forcing the other nation's mouth open to shove his tongue inside, which America promptly bit. Russia snarled and pulled away, wiping blood from his lips.

He had secretly enjoyed it, even though America would never admit it and deep within his heart of hearts, he wanted more of the large Russian man…all of him. Pure anger and lust glowed fiercely in his azure eyes.

"Is that all you got commie?" he growled, grabbing the Russian by the collar of his large tan coat and shoving him into a nearby wall. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Nyet." Russia snarled, violet eyes glowing. "That is just the tip of the iceburge, milinky. There is much more underneath."

"Then let's see it, asshole."

It was America now who pulled Russia in, locking their lips as he invaded the Soviet nation's mouth. Russia kissed back just as forcefully; not wanting to be outdone. They nearly suffocated each other, refusing to let the other come up for air, lips bleeding from harsh nibbles. Ivan dragged Alfred along the wall until they came to the nearest door, yanking the door open and thrusting the American inside before hastily following suit.

America flew through the open door, landing painfully in a mop bucket. This was a janitor's closet. Russia closed the door behind him and the small space was suddenly black. America grunted and swore as he tried to lift himself from the cramped bucket, but before he succeeded, Russia's large heavy body was straddling his hips.

"Ow! Russ-fuck! Get off me damn it! I'm stuck in a goddamn bucket!"

Russia hummed in amusement, leaning over the distressed American to lick and nibble at his earlobe. "On the contrary, Amerika, I rather like you restrained." He purred, licking down the length of America's neck to suck harshly at his collarbone.

"Nnngh! Ah~f-fuck…" It felt amazing, America wasn't going to lie. But even the pleasure of his neck being ravished didn't mask the pain in his buttocks. He shoved against Russia's chest but to no avail. The frustration at being helpless filled his gut and adrenaline filled his veins. America growled and gave Russia's chest one powerful _push_. The pleasurable lips were torn from his neck as the Russian flew backwards, landing in a tangle of mops and brooms against the closet's other wall. Before he could right himself, America threw himself on top, straddling Russia's hips and pinning his arms. "Ah-ha!" He grinned cockily, thrusting his hips into his opponent's. "How does it feel to be restrained _comrade?_"

Russia responded with a deep moan as the blonde nation moved his hips, pushing and grinding their arousals together. It felt so good; and though he would never admit it, the feeling of being dominated by the optimistic blonde was somehow slightly arousing…_slightly_. He felt America's slender fingers fumble at his coat, shirt and pants and soon he lay before his enemy completely naked. Now this was too much. He was not, _not_, going to be the only one exposed here. Some dominance was acceptable but this absolutely would not do. Russia's knee sprung upwards, hitting America in the crotch. The other man let out a pained yelp and, taking advantage of the distraction, Russia pulled America down and rolled, reversing their positions. Before the pain had subsided, America's clothes were removed.

"S-sneaky…fucking…_Russian!_" He hissed as his chest was again lavished by Russia's mouth. The silver-haired nation only giggled and trailed more wet kisses further down to his aching length. America shivered in anticipation as a hot tongue circled his bellybutton, Russia's mouth drawing nearer and nearer –

Suddenly the wet heat was gone, leaving America's skin cold and abandoned. The young nation sat up slightly to glare at his partner, who was gazing at him with amusement.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Get on with it already!" His cock throbbed painfully. _Friction…he needed friction! _

"What's the magic w-o-rd?" Russia sing-songed, grinning.

"Suck my dick please!" America yelled angrily, and with a devilish smirk, Russia obliged, engulfing his enemy completely, tongue swirling around the head and down around the shaft.

"A-ahh~ oh god!" America's head fell back as unrestricted moans spilled from his swollen lips. He grasped at Russia's silvery hair, guiding his mouth forcefully up and down his length, making him gag. Russia seemed to enjoy it however, moaning around America's arousal as his head bobbed up and down, mouth and throat working to bring America closer to oblivion. America thrust his hips harder and faster into Russia's mouth, not caring if the other man choked. When he finally came, he grabbed tuffs of Ivan's hair, holding the wet mouth to his twitching cock and making him swallow all of his sticky seed. When he finally let go, Russia pulled away, coughing and retching violently. Completely spent, America stood shakily from his uncomfortable position amongst the mops.

"Oh no you don't, moya igrushka." A slightly irritated voice said as a thick hand grabbed America's ankle, pulling him down again with a noisy clatter. "How selfish of you to think you could just walk out of here without repaying me for my trouble. Tsk tsk tsk." Russia crawled up America's helpless form, smirking darkly. America couldn't help but shudder. That _look._ The shorter blonde opened his mouth to speak, only to have Russia's thick fingers invade it.

Well damn. Russia may be about to fuck him, but America wasn't going to let him get away with it without leaving _some_ impression. Blue eyes shining defiantly, America swirled his tongue around each individual finger and scraped his teeth lightly against the skin, using all his skill to suck those digits. He wanted Russia to _feel_ this. Russia groaned softly and grinned, pulling the wet fingers from America's mouth to trail them down America's spine, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He pulled the smaller man off the floor and into his lap, fingers ghosting around his asshole teasingly. America rolled his eyes.

"If your gonna do it, just do it already!" He said, glaring. Russia giggled.

"All in good time, comrade." He sneered, and without warning pressed two of the wet fingers in.

America gasped at the sting as not one but two of Russia's rather thick fingers entered him. Squirming in the Russian's lap, he yelp as a third finger slid in, biting down on the other man's shoulder. While Russia prepared him, he made the mistake of looking at his partners face. His heart nearly stopped.

America looked absolutely beautiful just then; golden locks in disarray, features distorted with pleasure. His eyes were squeezed shut behind his glasses, which now hung half off his face. A look of genuine care and concern flashed across Russia's face for a microsecond. As discrete as possible, so America would never notice the act, Russia lifted the hap-hazard glasses from America's sweat-drenched face, laying them carefully beside their tangled bodies. For some odd reason that he could not currently comprehend in his aroused state, he did not want America to get hurt.

A loud moan escaped America's cracked lips as Russia curled his fingers inside him, hitting a spot that made him see stars. "Ahh…Ivan-hnnn! P-please…ohhh~"

"Please…what?" Russia tried to play innocent for the sake of ticking the younger nation off, but it was getting harder and harder as his reason slipped from him more and more behind that haze of desire.

"F-FUCK ME!" America begged, back arching on those fingers as they continued to work him. Russia hastily obeyed, slipping his fingers from him. America whined and squirmed impatiently, and Russia found it oddly _cute_, if the capitalist pig could ever be thought of as such. With matching impatience, Russia lifted America's hips, aligning himself and proceeded to press up and in, letting out a deep moan as he slid in past the first ring of muscle, burring all of himself inside.

America began to move their hips almost immediately, burning with need and impatient to get this over with. The two enemies were overcome with pleasure, hugging and biting at each other's flesh as they both came closer with each thrust becoming faster and more sporadic than the last. Russia released his passion with a moan, muffled against the flesh of America's shoulder as he bit the other nation hard, bringing him to his second orgasm as well.

Both men collapsed, knocking Russia to the dirty floor with America atop of his chest. They lay there for a moment, panting heavily in the fading afterglow, then remembering just then that they were enemies, America scrambled off the Russian and quickly dressed himself.

"I-uh, I sh-should go." He stuttered, then coughed awkwardly as he opened the closet door, letting the bright light shine through. "S-see you tomorrow, Braginski."

Russia opened his mouth to voice his goodbye, only to have the door slammed in his face. His brow furrowed as a troubled frown crossed his face. He thought back on what they had just done…_together_, and how America acted before and after. Nothing had changed. _Vredonosnyi__̆. __I accomplished nothing_. He thought dryly and proceeded to get dressed, leaving the building in shame.

* * *

Back at the hotel, America lay on his bed with an icepack soothing his sore posterior. Images of the janitors closet and the events that conspired there played in his head like a slideshow without ceasing. Why had Russia done that? None of it made sense…unless his enemy felt the same odd attraction that America did. He hoped that it was resolved now, and things would go back to how they were. Maybe his -ehem- _dreams_ would stop as well. He wanted so desperately to loath the mildly-insane violet eyed man, but in all honesty, he didn't know if he could. That afternoon, something changed. He wasn't in love or anything, not at all, however for some unknown reason he could not bring himself to feel hostile towards Russia.

_Well maybe the dreams will stop at least…_ He thought dryly as he lay back and closed his eyes, letting his head sink into the soft pillow. It wasn't long before America fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, America awoke before his alarm; something he had never before done. Deciding to take advantage of this he rose early, turning off the alarm that was fated to buzz loudly in fifteen minutes. He dressed calmly without having to rush and even had time to stop for coffee and a McMuffin on the way to the second (and final) day of the meeting. He met his boss in the hall, talking exuberantly with the president as they slowly approached the room of the meeting.

No one else was in the small conference room, for the two Americans were five minutes early. Regan took his seat and America left the room to explore the ancient house until the meeting began.

The building was ancient, and it's architecture was beautiful. Lost in the house's beauty, America failed to notice the rather tall man that crept up behind him some time ago.

"Good morning." A light, childlike voice chimmed from behind the captivated blonde.

"YAAH!" America jumped, nearly bumping into Russia's vast chest as he whirled around.

Russia's eyes closed as he giggled lightly, causing America to blush in irritation.

"Geez Russia! You scared the pants off me!" He whined, eyeing the other man wearily. Russia only continued to giggle in response.

"On the contrary, Amerika, I believe your pants are where they're supposed to be…unfortunately."

"Wh-what? Oh..I-I wasn't meaning _literally_, you-you pervert!"

Russia couldn't help but smile. America was awfully cute when he was flustered; an attribute he had never before noticed. Before he could control himself, Russia leaned in, nose almost touching the furiously blushing American's, violet eyes sparkling playfully. He just loved to tease him. "And how do you mean, vozlyublennyĭ?" He nearly purred, watching with pleasure as the already prominent blush on America's face deepen and how his blue eyes widened behind his glasses, giving Russia a better view of their whole beauty. How he never noticed, Russia didn't know, but America was quite beautiful.

"You know what I mean, asshole." America said. Was that a smirk? It was Russia's turn to look flustered as the blonde nation unexpectedly stared the taller down. With a huff Russia pulled away.

"W-well what do you know…" He stuttered, peering at the antique pocket watch** (3)** he treasured greatly. "We are late for the meeting, da."

The two nations walked back to the conference room together in silence. Though not touching, they were closer than they would have ever dared be; shoulders only inches apart. The charged atmosphere that usually surrounded them when the two nations were forced to be together that mimicked the repulsion of two magnets of the same charge was gone, replaced by a calm, neutral air. Not one thick with love, but not charged with angst either.

Upon their arrival in the conference room, heads turned in their direction. Mutters and suspicious glances were shared around the table and the two world leaders eyed their countries curiously. Yes, something was definitely different. No one dared comment though, for most humans except a country's ruler feared the "immortal" personifications of their countries.

The rest of the second day went smoothly and the atmosphere was much calmer and maybe even a little positive. There were no signed treaties, however for the first time both nations were able to come to a mutual agreement on several topics. The conversations were more open, and never was there an argument. Both sides left the Höfði satisfied and on the plane ride back to America's capital, Regan praised the young nation warmly.

"That's the way to play 'em cards, Alfred!" The middle-aged man cheered, slapping America on the back in a friendly gesture. "I'm so glad you finally got your mind on track!"

"Yeah, well I just got bored of playing around, ya know." America boasted. He'd never admit that the reason why he and Russia cooperated was because they had finally resolved some hardcore sexual tension the previous day; not ever.

"Oh, in speaking of _playing around_ Al, where did you run off to after the meeting yesterday? I thought I saw Ivan follow after you." The president always used their human names. At first, America thought it weird but after a while he preferred it. It made it feel like he and his boss were on the same level personally as well as in business. It was easier for them to talk casually.

"Oh, uh…" America cleared his throat and coughed, trying to hide the blush that threatened to turn his cheeks pink. "Rus-Ivan and I just had a little- er- chat. Yeah, uh we just sorta talked about some things and got some stuff sorted out between us, ya know." _Sorted out a lot between us…_

The American president laughed loudly and ruffled America's hair as he would a child. "That a boy!" A mile wide grin stretched his wrinkled face. "I'm really looking forward to this next meeting, Al, I really am." And with that, the president left Alfred alone in his cabin, feeling uneasy.

He didn't know how to feel about the third meeting.

Not at all.

* * *

**Translations: **

Eto vam ya prishel k = _It's you I came to see_

moya igrushka = _My toy_

_Vredonosnyi__̆. = damnit _

vozlyublennyĭ = _sweetheart_

**_(1)_**_ The war of 1812 between the Americans and Britsh Empire. It is also commonly called "the second war of American independance". The last war fought on American soil. You can see why Al might be sore about it... _

**(2)** _The _Höfði _house was the location of the _Reykjavik_ summit. It's very large and beautiful. _

_**(3)** I can just see Russia having a pocket watch...it fits in my mind. _

_**From Wiki article on the 2nd Summit Meeting: **_Despite the unexpected proximity to the potential elimination of all nuclear weapons, the meeting adjourned with no agreement; however, both sides discovered the extent of the concessions the other side was willing to make.[3] Human rights became a subject of productive discussion for the first time. An agreement by Gorbachev to on-site inspections, a continuing American demand which had not been achieved in the Partial Test Ban Treaty of 1963 or the ABM and SALT I pacts of 1972, constituted a significant step forward, and foreshadowed Russian openness to such testing in future talks_ (wikipedia) _


	5. What Happens When Russia is Away

_First of all, thank you so much for all of the reviews! I really really appreciate it. Sorry for the wait. I've been having some crazy writers block lately, and this chapter doesn't have too much happening, but I hope you like it all the same. It's mostly crack...the beginning was fun to write. XD _

_**Warnings: **not too many for this one :3  
**Disclaimer:** aph = not mine_

* * *

It was barely three in the morning when Russia left the Soviet house for Iceland, yet twenty anxious nations watched from the upstairs windows with wide, expecting eyes as their 'mother' left the house in a hurry. Russia's eagerness to leave, the components of the USSR suspected, was to avoid Belarus, who was chasing the tall nation out the door with demands for kisses and marriage.

As soon as the nondescript black car zoomed out of sight and the sound of the front door being slammed shut shook the large house, the USSR nations took action.

"WOOHOO!" Prussia leapt up cheering and a large black frying pan immediately came in contact with his head.

"Shh!" Hungary hissed. "There's still one more problem we have to take care of." She whispered, gesturing down stairs with her thumb.

In one large blob, all twenty nations crept down the stairs, shaking with pure terror as they approached Russia's even crazier sibling, who was currently skipping down and up the length of the giant living room, singing her plans for marrying her older brother quietly to herself. They had now reached the bottom of the stairs. Eyes darted from one wide-eyed face to the other. Who would go? Finally, one small blonde nation in all pink stepped forward.

"Omg you guys are like totally lame! If you're all gonna be a bunch of pussies I'll totally go." The cross-dressing Pole practically spat the whispered words, and with that, he grabbed the coil of rope from Ukraine's trembling hands and combat-rolled to the wall that hid the group from Belarus's view.

Poland quickly tied a lasso at the end of the rope and beckoned to Ukraine and Hungary, who crept stealthily to his side. "Ok, so I'm gonna go for it and as soon as I lasso the bitch, Ukraine, you come up and blindfold her, and Hungary, you totally knock her out with your frying pan. "

Ukraine bit her lip, attempting to stop the tears that threatened to blow their cover. She didn't want to hurt her sister but this had to be done.

"Ok. Here I go…" Poland whispered, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves before jumping out from behind the wall.

"Hey bitch!" He shouted, twirling his lasso and throwing it at the delusional woman.

Belarus let out a blood-curdling shriek as the lasso fell over her, tightening around her arms, and back in the stairwell, Lithuania fainted.

"I'm so sorry, sister!" Ukraine cried, sobbing freely now as she came up from behind and placed a black cloth over the thrashing woman's eyes. The ropes that bound her began to fray and fall away as the mad Belarusian thrashed and wriggled with all her might. Poland's eyes bulged. He hadn't expected her to be _that_ strong!

"_Elizaveta, now!_" Ukraine and Poland screamed and in a flash, the Hungarian woman dashed from behind the wall and struck Belarus with her frying pan before the silver-haired woman completely broke free of her bonds. A loud _thud _shook the floor as the insane woman fell to the floor face-first.

A sort of exhausted silence filled the air as the sound of the thud seemed to fade out like the end of a song. By looking at the tired faces of all twenty nations, it was as if taking down Russia's mad sibling took all the energy out of all twenty Soviets.

All of a sudden, Ukraine fell to her knees beside her fallen sister and let out a loud, wet sob. Immediately, Hungary went over to comfort the emotional nation while Poland looked around awkwardly for a moment before motioning to the shaking blob of nations to help carry Belarus away.

"Where should we put her?" A few whispered, all eyeing the unconscious woman with unease as if at any moment she might leap up and murder them.

"Let's stuff 'er in the pantry!" Armenia cried enthusiastically.

"Na…tie her up in the bathtub." Said Estonia.

"No! Don't do that! She might drown!" Ukraine protested, continuing to cry.

"Ok, ok! Everyone take a chill pill!" Poland said, stepping forward. "We'll like totally lock her in her room! So when she wakes up she'll like totally think she was dreaming and won't tell Russia!"

Everyone agreed to the plan; after all, it was probably the most intelligent thing the Pole had ever said. And after making a long struggle out of hauling the unconscious Belarusian up the long staircase, the USSR nations gently set her on her bed after giving her a large dose of a heavy sedative to keep her out while they had their fun.

As soon as each and every nation had been evacuated from the dark bedroom and the lock clicked in place, cheers and shouts erupted instantaneously. The party had started.

Prussia, Estonia, and Yugoslavia ran up onto the roof where an enormous antenna large enough to intercept signals from western radio stations was erected and the large Soviet mansion was instantly filled with the sweet sound of forbidden western pop music. Chairs and tables were shoved against the walls and the enormous Persian rug was rolled up and tossed aside, revealing the bare wood floor. Hungary, Ukraine, and Poland hung colorful streamers and Christmas lights; part of a hidden stash of decorations and forbidden western objects hidden in the attic.

"Yes! I knew that frozen bastard was secretly buying these!" Prussia cried, rolling kegs of German beer up the stairs of the underground pantry.

"P-Prussia, b-b-be careful! R-R-Russia w-will n-n-notice!" Latvia cried. The poor nation's small body was shaking all over.

"It's cool, Ravis! Just don't touch the man's vodka and we're golden." Prussia reassured the terrified country. All the Soviet nations were subject to Russia's treatments, and were extremely supportive of each other, especially the little Latvian.

Despite a few nervous protests, the beer was poured and a few of the bolder nations began to dance in the large space created in the living room. A few nations refused to take part in the festivities entirely; mostly out of fear that a towering scarf-wearing nation would suddenly burst through the door and catch them all red-handed, though as the night wore on and the party showed no signs of stopping, the more timid countries gradually let themselves go and after a while even Latvia joined in.

"_You spin me right 'round, baby right 'round like a record!_" the nations sang along as a well known song came on, thrashing to the beat. Most of them were drunk by then and some clothing began to come off as the temperature in the room rose higher and higher from the heat generated by twenty dancing bodies as they danced on and on into the night.

* * *

Russia sat in his favorite chair yet again. There was something off about the room, however he could not guess as to what it might be. The furniture was positioned exactly as it always had been and the room looked how it did before he left for Iceland. He'd grilled his "children" on what went on the three days he was absent and they had admitted to nothing out of the ordinary. Belarus was acting even stranger than normal. When he returned she was locked away in her room, fast asleep, and ever since then she had an odd glazed look that dulled the madness in her wild eyes. She spent most of her time in her room, barely eating nor speaking, and when not in her room, she wandered the house like a ghost. Russia preferred the change. At least she wasn't demanding marriage or just being down right frightening. It gave him some much needed space and time to think things through.

The soviet economy was not doing well as of late, yet the people couldn't be better off. Glasnost and Perestroika (and America's constant push for human rights – he always had to be a "hero") had opened up opportunities for the people of the USSR that they had never before had. Free speech was allowed now; something Russia didn't know what to make of. Sure, it was nice, he supposed, but not entirely necessary. It seemed to Russia that when provided the means, humans often chose the path of resistance and dissatisfaction over contentment. Before his children had nothing to worry about; the KBG would take care of the nay-sayers and no one wanted to question the Party, almost never. Russia didn't understand this acceptance of disloyalty. By allowing people to voice their opinions, you let in room for dissatisfaction and once the unhappiness took root, it would spread like wildfire until everyone was unhappy and finally they'd revolt. Russia often wondered how America kept his country whole and without civil war for as long as he did. Yet, he was barely 400 years old. It was only a matter of time, Russia speculated, before the children of freedom took advantage of their country's lenience and rebelled. The idea made him happy in a vengeful way, but also deeply sad. For no matter how freedom you gave your children, they always found a way to worm through the cracks in your safe, protecting walls and hurt you, ungrateful and unashamed.

These thoughts had been on Russia's mind as of late. They festered in his mind like a disease until he couldn't stop thinking about it. He felt a constant sense of foreboding; a feeling that something was about to break within him. It was a feeling he had experienced often. He had felt it before the Bolsheviks came to power and many revolutions before that. Though he'd never let it show to his dear children, Russia was afraid.

While growing up, Russia had no one but his sisters and usually kept to himself. He was used to it, and preferred suffering in silence, but his thoughts wouldn't leave him alone and Russia felt that if he didn't tell someone about them, he'd snap again.

Hushed voices distracted him from his thoughts and Russia looked up from his lap to see Hungary and Poland talking in excited whispers in the hallway. His face split into his trademark grin as he stood and approached the two USSR nations.

"And what are my two lovely children talking so excitedly about on this fine day?"

Hungary and Poland's conversation stopped immediately and their eyes slowly looked up to that round, innocently smiling face they feared.

"Oh-uh…w-we were totally not talking about anything!" Poland stuttered, shaking in his pink heels. "Like, you totally wouldn't be interested."

Russia's innocent-serial-killer grin turned full force on the cross-dressing Pole. "And why wouldn't I be interested, dear Feliks?"

"Leave him alone." Hungary stepped between Russia and his victim, staring unafraid into his amethyst eyes. Her whole form radiated self-confidence and daring. "Poland wanted to barrow some shoes of mine and we were discussing the best outfit they would go with. It was completely trivial."

Russia's smile softened and he backed off. "Thank you, Elizaveta. Now could you tell me where Toris is?"

"Last I saw he was in the kitchen with Katyasha." Hungary said flatly. She had a reputation all around the Soviet house for being exceptionally hard-headed. Even after Russia had made her "become one with him", she'd remained as defiant and free-spirited as ever. It was even rumored that Russia respected her for her stubbornness.

"Spasibo."

Just as Hungary had said, Russia found Lithuania in the kitchen, happily making cookies with Russia's kind-hearted sister. The two were smearing each other's faces with sticky cookie dough and giggling as they stirred the batter in a giant bowl (all the kitchenware had to be large enough to make portions for twenty nations). The laughter instantly died as soon as the two nations saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Toris, I must speak with you." Russia said. His serious tone contrasted sharply with the light, boisterous laughter from before.

"Oh-okay m-mister Russia…" The Lithuanian stuttered. His eyes met Ukraine's, giving the woman a reassuring nod before following after Russia.

Russia led the timid brunette into his office; a dim room furnished with furniture made of a dark wood and a deep red carpet. The dark colored walls, furniture and dim light combined with the blood red carpet gave the whole room an eerie feel that matched its sole owner. Russia sat in an antique chair by a large stone fireplace. Both were centuries old. The Lithuanian sat in the chair across from Russia. He didn't anticipate anything terrible to happen – after all he hadn't done anything yet to displease Russia. Most likely the large nation just needed his advice on some matter. For some reason he usually chose to confide in Lithuania over the other Baltics, or even his sisters.

"I need your advice, Liet." Russia said. Lithuania wondered why he looked so uncomfortable. It made the normally intimidating nation look small.

"I'm here, Mister Russia." Lithuania kept his tone even and controlled.

"Ivan."

"Sorry…uh…what do you want to ask me…Ivan?"

"Toris, have you ever had the feeling that something was going to happen…something bad?"

"Yes…" _Every time you even look at me._

"I am sure you are aware that our economy has not been doing well lately. I am also sure you know that my boss has been passing some…interesting legislation lately and I am not sure if I agree with his methods."

"How so?"

"They are…capitalist in nature and they confuse me. I…I am afraid of changing. I'm afraid that he'll change me too much and I will not like the outcome. His reforms are not helping our economy and as long as he keeps giving our children free luxuries we cannot afford to have…I am afraid that I'll fall…like before. You know when I mean…you were there, Liet…when they…"

"Yes. I know what you mean…I-Ivan." Lithuania still found it odd saying Russia's human name. He'd gotten used to the constant formalities when addressing Russia. "But you can't get too worried about what Mr. Gorbachev is doing. If you have a problem, maybe you should try talking to him. I've heard rumors of his charisma. He's not like your other bosses. This one might listen to you."

"It's more than that, Liet." Russia muttered. "I am feeling unhealthy; my body is getting weaker and this house feels too heavy. I have worked so hard, Liet, to build this big house so the whole world might fit comfortably and live happily under my roof. My dear children can finally become one!"

Now Russia was getting into one of his notorious psycho moods. That childish tone had crept into his voice and his lavender eyes shone oddly, however Lithuania somehow had sympathy for him. The poor nation had had a frightful childhood, full of horrors no nation could even dream up in their most lucid nightmares. Knowing Russia for as long as he did, Lithuania maybe couldn't empathize with him, but he knew enough about Russia's past to understand why the man did what he did…to an extent.

"Erm…Ivan?"

"Da?"

"uh, well maybe, this is completely hypothetical, but maybe the Soviet Union is getting too big. No matter how big of a house you make, you can't meet everyone's needs. We are all much too different. Even if the union gets dissolved, Russia will still be whole and that's what matters, tiesa?"

Russia shook his head back and forth and from the way he sat, curled up in his seat, he looked to Lithuania like a frightened child. It was so unlike Russia it almost scared the Lithuanian. "I can't…you don't know how hard it is living alone after all those centuries. It'll be even harder going back after finally having such a big family. I don't want to be alone…"

"But we're all alone." Lithuania said, coming to sit in a chair nearer to Russia. "In our homeland, we live alone with our children but you have neighbors around you; there's your sisters, and Ravis, and Eduard…and me. Not to mention everyone else. If you need anything, we're all right here for you. You just need to speak up!"

Feeling that this was way too much like a therapy session, Lithuania was about to make his getaway when a pair of thick arms suddenly wrapped around him. "Aw, Leit! Thank you so much! You are a true friend to me, da!"

"G-ga~ R-Russia….choking…me…too…tight!" Lithuania's face dawned an unhealthy shade of blue as he squirmed in Russia's unbreakable death-hug.

"Spasibo tak mnogo, Litva!" Russia said, voice light and childish as he abruptly let go, letting the poor Lithuanian drop to the floor with a breathless _oomf!_ He wasn't surprised when the tall man giggled.

"I will take your advice to heart, dear Leit." Russia said, all signs of teasing gone. "I really do appreciate it."

And with that, he walked off, leaving his 'true friend' crumpled on the floor.

* * *

**_Translations:_**

_tiesa (Lithuanian) = Right _

_Spasibo tak mnogo, Litva = Thankyou so much, Lithuania_

_I cant really say when chapter 6 will be up...high school swimming starts next week and school's just around the corner. =/  
ah well. Please R&R, danke~_


	6. Washington DC Summit 3

_Gosh...it's been so long since I've updated this! Since High School swimming started in August and school started in September, I haven't had any time to write! Hopefully I'll be able to get the next one out faster since swim season ends in a week. (there's still club swimming after that but hopefully it'll take up less time...though probably not)_

_This story is turning out to be wayyyyyyyyyyyy longer than I planned! And to think I already have an idea for another long one! If anyone is still reading this thing, I bow down to your mercy and kiss your feet. _

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia  
_

* * *

Russia hadn't been to America's capital in a while…or anywhere in the United States for that matter. The last time he recalled was that Cuban missile ordeal over twenty years ago, and that stuffy, tense meeting was not something he wanted to remember. Though want it or not, the memory of sitting across from that young nation for hours on end, locked in a glaring contest in that suffocating, humid air sprung up in Russia's mind. He scowled down at the sprawling metropolis bellow.

His boss had randomly announced that Russia would be staying at America's house for the duration of the third (and second to last…not that Russia was counting) meeting. It was to save money, or so he claimed. Gorbachev had also yet again preached the importance of spending time with America for 'better diplomatic relations', but Russia remained unconvinced. For all he knew, it was so old Mikhail could secretly meet with Mr. Regan and sign some sort of peace treaty behind their backs without Russia or America there to protest. Russia wouldn't put it past the old man, after all many of his boss's latest "reforms" were of a more democratic nature, so why not just become allies with the very face of democracy itself? For Russia, it was like trying to fit into clothes that weren't the right size; it was uncomfortable. It didn't sit well with him, though if it was what made his children happy, he would try to make it work…maybe. When it came down to it, he'd do anything for his poor people (as long as it was for the common good).

Russia gazed out the window as the plane made its descent on to the runway. To his surprise, a fairly large crowd was gathered outside, waiting for their arrival.

", chto v mire…?" Russia gaped, leaning further and further until his sizable nose pressed against the plexiglass. The people…there were so many, and they were all cheering and smiling. Some even had signs with welcoming phrases written in large, colorful letters. What was the meaning of this?

Russia turned, giving his boss a confused, questioning look. The Russian man winked and gave his country a rather comforting smile and a quick nod of the head, telling Russia that it was time to get off the plane.

In the bustling streets of downtown Washington, a large parade awaited them. Red, white, and blue balloons and confetti rained down from balconies and on the sidewalks and pouring out into the streets, exuberant Americans jumped and cheered at the sight of the slow moving, glossy black car that held them. Russia gawked at the sight of the overflowing welcome crowd and the black suited riot police that herded the mass away from their vehicle.

Unexpectedly, the middle-aged president beside Russia ordered the driver to stop in the middle of the street and Russia gasped in surprise as the Russian president stepped out into the streets, eliciting a roar of cheers. His president; the enemy of the American people, approached the sidelines, greeting the children of freedom and shaking their hands.

'_This is ridiculous…'_ he tried to think. The American people would grovel at the feet of any person of status, such was their celebrity-loving way. Russia told himself this over and over, and tried to believe it and be angry and spiteful, but he couldn't hold back that warm feeling of gratitude that filled him so pleasantly. He really was touched by the American people's extravagant welcome. He certainly didn't deserve it.

On a random whim, Russia followed his leader out of the protective confines of the car, however upon meeting the cool fall air, and hearing the loud shouts of the happy throng, and seeing the obviously harmless, but still intimidating policemen keeping the crowd at bay, the welcome parade he saw now transformed into a bloody mob of reformers armed with guns and torches…

_Angry shouts filled the frozen air of Red Square that day. Even the fluffy white now floating down from the dull gray heavens seemed to add to the absolute misery of that day as Russia watched his worst nightmare unfold for the countless time in his long history. The tears that spilled from his eyes instantly froze to his cheeks when they came in contact with that arctic chill, and oh god how he loathed the cold… _

_Blood-curdling screams erupted from the mob and Russia gasped in horror as a stampede of Cossacks rode in the square on horseback, trampling Bolsheviks to the hard ground and hacking away at their mangled bodies. Russia cried freely now. He tried to yell; to tell his children to stop fighting, but no words came out. He turned to the Tsar, standing tall and ever-proud and clad in his best robs beside him. The man showed no emotion, not an ounce of sadness nor satisfaction as the rebels were cut down before him. _

_Suddenly, the great doors burst open with a loud crash and a mob of revolutionaries stormed in. _

"_Nyet! NYET!" Russia screamed, reaching for his master as they carried the last Tsar away. Many arms grabbed at his cloths and held him fast, dragging the nation off in another direction. _

"_L-let go of me!" Sobs drenched his speech. "I am your country! I have done nothing! My children, let me go!" _

Russia gasped as the scenery flipped again. The angry cries and screams turned back to laughter and joy. The mob was welcoming again. A soft face obstructed Russia's vision; azure eyes still managing to shine with life whilst being clouded with worry. His full lips were angled downwards in a frown and those eyebrows, thin unlike his father figure's, were pushed so close they were almost touching.

"Ivan, Hey! Hello? Ivan?" That clear voice rang like bells in his head and Russia's vision blurred. He tried to speak, to form a coherent response, but all he managed was a groan as his eyelids drooped shut and he fell crumpled on the pavement.

When Russia opened his eyes, he was disoriented. A ceiling filled his vision, while he distinctly remembered being outside. He was warm; too warm. Raising his head slowly, he saw that he was wrapped in blankets. Russia struggled to kick them off, but failed as they were wrapped around his frame so snugly; like a cocoon. He moved to sit-up and remove them, however the sudden movement made his head spin and he fell back against the cushions; helpless. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head, albeit more slowly, to see a familiar yellow-headed American approach his helpless form with a wet washcloth in hand.

"Oh…it's you, da." He mumbled, turning his head back to stare at the ceiling, expression remaining stoic.

"Oh. It's me." America mocked Russia's dry tone. "How 'bout a thank you or something for heroically saving your fainting ass?"

"You," Russia spat, "have no idea what just happened, so do not start with me Amerika. I am not in the appropriate mood."

"Are you ever?" America muttered the rhetorical response from under his breath, slapping the wet cloth on the other man's sweating forehead. "You're burning up, by the way. You sick or something?"

"Has it occurred to you that I might be overheated with all of these blankets? That could be a reason for my _burning up_, da?"

"Oh yeah…uh…right." America hastily bent over Russia, unwrapping him from the toasty cocoon. Russia hummed contentedly at the rush of cool air against his burning skin.

"Man…you're like Mister Freeze or something." He heard the American mumble from another room.

"Who?" He asked, amethyst eyes following the other as he returned, crossing the room to stand in front of him.

"Uh…never mind." America seemed uncomfortable; fidgeting with the bottom of his plain white t-shirt and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After a long tense silence, his azure eyes darted around the room before finally grabbing a chair and pulling it to Russia's side. "So…" He started, folding his arms over the armrest of the sofa. "What went down yesterday?"

Russia winced slightly at America's odd twisting of the English language. It was annoying how he switched words around at random, yet oddly impressive. One could call it just being too lazy to use proper English grammar, but sometimes Russia thought it was creative. After all, Russia couldn't think of another nation that could alter a language quite like America.

"I…I do not know." Russia tried to remember his flashback, but the memories were fuzzy; reincarnated into words with difficulty. "When I got out of the car, the whole scene; the crowds, the police, they all reminded me of a similar situation in my country from some time ago…"

America's first guess was a happy memory, thinking of the bright, festive atmosphere of yesterday's parade, but upon seeing the pained look on Russia's child-like face, he changed his mind. "Oh…" he debated with himself, wondering whether he should refrain from asking out of courtesy, but his curiosity got the better of him. "You mean like a flashback? To what?"

Russia swallowed hard, gaze fixed on the ceiling above. "I-It's not a moment in my history I like to remember…" He confessed, hating feeling so vulnerable in the face of his enemy. "When I saw all the people and heard the shouts, the scene reminded me of March 11, 1917. It was the day the Bolsheviks finally succeeded. They captured and killed my family and…almost killed me…" Russia bit his lip and for a moment, he looked so small and vulnerable; like a lost child. The contrast with the large man's usual crazy surprised America. It was freaking him out.

"If I am remembering correctly, that was also the day you dubbed me 'filthy communist' and refused to speak to me, wasn't it, da?" A biting edge laced Russia's tone, cutting into America and opening from him, an unexpected wave of quilt. It was true, however up until now, America had not a clue as to what exactly happened to Russia during the long years of his revolution. But what could he say now?

The normally 'most awesome' nation was suddenly feeling less-than-awesome in the presence of his grief-stricken foe. _So it wasn't his choice…_ he thought, feeling terrible for his gross assumptions. A part of him, though was disappointed. _Well, damn I guess he's not completely evil._ He admitted grudgingly to himself. Things are so much easier when they're black and white.

"I-uh-I'm sorry…" America mumbled. The air was thick and tense, making it awkward for the two of them.

"Do not worry about it, Amerika." Russia said. "It is only natural for people to fear what they do not understand."

America opened his mouth, and then clamped it shut again. He wanted to argue that he in fact understood communism for all it was, but decided against it. He really didn't feel like arguing with Russia just then.

A long, painful silence threatened to swallow them up and Russia and America fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats as they nearly bathed in the tension. It was after five long minutes of nothing but the obnoxious tick of an analog clock when the host nation finally snapped.

"I'm hungry." He said, standing abruptly. "Wanna burger?"

Russia cringed at the idea of eating American food for the next two-and-a-half days. Switzerland had an excellent cuisine (being mostly French) and Iceland had decent seafood but American food was no better than its English influence. Russia would rather starve.

America simply shrugged and walked off in what Russia supposed was the direction of the kitchen. With America gone, he took time to explore the room, even finding the strength to get up and move around. The room was very large and the architecture dated back to around the mid 1600's. Most of the furniture, however, aside from a few ancient pieces of wood carved chairs and stools was very modern. Standing where Russia assumed a bookshelf once stood was an enormous entertainment system complete with a Television and the latest in sound system technology. On the wall adjacent to the extravagant set-up, stood a large book shelf stretching from floor to ceiling and corner to corner. A good portion of the books were gone; replaced by hundreds of bulky VHS' and cassette tapes and records from the recent decades.

_What a shame…_ Russia thought, fingering the dusty bindings of neglected classics from throughout the ages. The collection was primarily American and British, however, Russia found the works of French philosophers, German, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, and Spanish literature, as well as a couple of his old Russian ballets. Russia gave a small chuckle, stroking the works of his children fondly. The faded titles brought back memories of various ages; some fond and some not so much. Most he barely remembered, having been banned early in Lenin's reign for their controversial content.

Moving out of the living room, Russia explored the long drafty hallways, lined with portraits of stuffy British generals of the Elizabethan period. Russia recognized a few of them from long forgotten battles, making faces at his people's past foes. Upon rounding a corner, Russia glimpsed a set of large double doors that lay shut and exclusive – hiding secrets Russia felt the necessity to uncover. With an unusual sense of mischief and childish eagerness, Russia tried the knobs, finding them unlocked. With a quick glance to either side, he opened the heavy doors and slipped inside.

And immediately froze.

The room was an enormous study. There was an ancient wood desk and the walls were nearly made of bookshelves, stacked full of books and parchments and outdated world maps. An impressive stone fire place stared Russia in the face from across the room, however that was not the thing that shocked him so. The object of Russia's fascination was the enormous painting above it.

The stiff, professional style of the portrait brought Russia back to the 18th century. Two figures stared down at the Russian from their eternal place about the hearth; the older depicted with the stern, unsmiling face and stiff posture that was customary in portraits of the age. The man's piercing green eyes framed by those unsightly eyebrows that made him famous contrasted with the blood-red hue of his stiff military coat, adorned with ruffles and medals and gold-plated buttons. The nation's partner was none other than a brilliant, blue-eyed child, who, though unsmiling like his elder, contained a positive energy that seemed to defy the otherwise gloomy painting from the unruly hair that stuck straight upwards to his messy children's clothes. They were alike in appearance; nearly brothers with their almost-identical blonde hair and the shape of their small noses and soft cheek bones, however the differences in their eye color and general aurora – which was even prominent in the painting - were great enough to render them distinct, separate spirits.

Russia felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of his head, and when he turned it was a much older version of the former-colony standing in the doorway with a deadly glare fixed on his face.

"What are you doing in here?" He growled. Russia's mouth opened, but no words rose to his lips. "Get out!" America cried, storming angrily into the room. "Out! _Out! Out!"_ The heavy wood doors slammed shut in Russia's snow white face, but the nation didn't even flinch.

Russia recovered in a heartbeat, as if America's conduct left him completely unfazed. Seeing as America desired to be left alone, Russia left the other nation alone to prance into the living room, humming a nonspecific tune as he went. He found, to his surprise, a bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The broth had already cooled and Russia supposed America had been looking for him when he found him in that room. He ate the soup nonetheless, pleasantly surprised at America's generosity.

The next morning was awkward. America had shown Russia to a guest bedroom later that night and the two had gotten ready in their respective rooms, only seeing each other when they met in the kitchen over a silent breakfast. It wasn't until they were in the garage; a huge area that was once the servants quarters.

"I-I'm sorry about yesterday." America mumbled his apology as he slipped into the driver's seat of a large black hummer.

"It is alright, Amerika." Russia said, looking at his folded hands in his lap. "I should not have invaded your privacy."

Silence resumed and America was wanting to leave the exchange at that, however the reason behind his actions the previous day nagged at him until he couldn't stand it any longer.

"It's just that, well, I haven't really been here since I broke with England." He confessed, feeling silly and vulnerable under Russia's gaze. "My boss thought that since I'm changing things with you, I might as well change myself or something like that. It took me forever to move all the old junk out of there…but I guess they kept the ol' place up pretty well since the rev."

Russia nodded in understanding. It was no secret that the American Revolution was a sore spot for both England and America. However, Russia was still mildly surprised that he was currently staying in the house America had grown up in as a colony and even more surprised when the young nation continued to talk.

"That room was Iggy's study so he could do all his business stuff when he stayed with me." America swallowed hard. His throat felt thick with emotion. "It-er… brought back a lot of memories. That's all." Even then as he spoke, images of England hard at work until late hours of the night, neglecting promises of play-time with the young America whirled around in his head.

"I understand, da." Russia said, smiling his trademark childish smile. "There are many rooms in my home I do not enter simply because the memories they hold are much too painful."

They arrived at the White House with a half an hour to spare; a first-ever for the American nation. As they drove through the front gates, Russia stared with raised eyebrows at a large congregation of protestors on the streets outside, armed with signs protesting the meeting that was soon to take place. He shot a questioning look at America, who only smiled, regarding the mob with a look Russia could only describe as fond.

"Ignore them." He said simply, and turned his eyes back to the road as he drove at a creeping pace through the heavily monitored gates.

There were no ambassadors present in the Oval Office that day, unlike the past conferences. Only the Russian and American presidents and their respective countries sat in an open circle formation in the center of the large room. The meeting was easier, though whether it was a result of Ronald Regan's laid-back nature, Mikhail Gorbachev's charisma, or simply the dissolving tension between Russia and America, no one was sure.

Not to say the meeting was completely tension free. Russia and America were still stubborn as ever in defending their beliefs, even though the two presidents were at the beginning of a light friendship. But despite the occasional disagreement, by the end of the day, America even agreed to allow the much-fought over INF treaty be signed.

"I think the first half of today has been a success, da Alfred?" Russia said with a smile as he cheerfully skipped alongside the other nation as they walked around downtown Washington city.

"Yeah it was pretty cool." The other nation shrugged, trying hard to ignore the stares his large companion was attracting as he pranced gaily down the sidewalk, scarf fluttering happily in his wake.

"I am so happy that you agreed to my INF treaty! I knew that you would see my way, comrade!"

"Woah-woah-woah!" America stopped abruptly, grabbing a fistful of the joyful Russian's scarf and roughly halting him as well. "_Your_ treaty? _Your_ way? What the hell are you even talking about, red? I thought this whole stupid thing was supposed to be about the both of us!"

A bunch of passerby had stopped to stare at the red-faced American and the Russian with an expression cold as ice.

"I just agreed to sign the damn thing cause Boss and y'all kept buggin' me about it. It's just a damn treaty! You didn't win nothing, commie and I'm not your mother-fucking comrade damn it!"

"Is that all this is to you, Amerik-" Russia was abruptly cut off by a hand over his mouth and a livid America whispering inches away from his face. "It's Alfred, you dumbass! We're in public!"

"Do you think this whole thing is a big game to you, _Alfred_?" Russia spat the other nation's human name with vehemence. "Do you think stocking up enough nuclear weapons to destroy this whole planet thirty times over is just a contest? Do you realize the danger we're putting the world in by keeping this up? I have been thinking a lot about us, and I have come to a conclusion. I do not like you, Alfred F. Jones, but I will not jeopardize the lives of every nation on Earth because of it."

"Oh, hoho! Well look who's being Mr. Humanitarian now! That's some mighty self-righteous talk for someone who keeps half the fucking world locked away in their basement while they live the high life! I bet it feels great having half the world as your slaves!"

Russia's teeth bared and his violet eyes shone. With a feral growl, the towering nation took the other by the collar and pulled him into an ally, shoving the American against the graffitied wall of a building.

"Do you really want to play with me, Amerika? You do not know what you are even saying. You ignorant brat! How dare you say that I live extravagantly! I will have you know that many of my people do not even have electricity. Even now, they still wait in lines for bread and soup! I do all I can, Amerika to feed my children's hungry mouths, but even I cannot do enough! But at least they are equal, unlike your false excuse for a democracy!"

America looked up into those cold purple eyes; azure orbs filled with anger and hurt. There was nothing he could say. He knew the wealth in his country was unequal and not everything was as just and equal as he made himself believe. So with all the malice he could muster, America sent a furious ball of spittle flying into Russia's livid face. "I hate you!" He cried, and with a triumphant push, he sent the larger nation flying backward and ran away.

Russia watched the amber haired nation disappear into the crowds of the metropolis as unresolved anger burnt a steady fire in his gut. "Detyeĭ." He spat, and picked himself up from the pavement. He made his way to a dingy little restaurant across the street, where he was to find a pay phone to phone his boss.

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_mehhh when is this going to end? I dunno. But I will finish it, I promise! The next chapter shouldn't take as long. =] _

_oh and if the Russian sucks, I'm sorry. I use Google Translate. Please correct the fails!  
_

_Translations: _

Detyeĭ _= children_

, chto v mire _= what in the world?_


	7. History

_This story's getting longggg. It was originally a one-shot set at Russia's house…and then it grew to a two-shot…and then I decided to make it historically accurate and well, *hand gestures* here we are. _

_I'd been having terrible writers block during high school swimming but now that that's done, I'm having fun writing this again! The dynamic between America and Russia is very fun to write and this story's getting down to its last couple chapters! =0 Enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Hetalia = not mine.  
__**Warnings: **__none really. Maybe some fluff? I'm sorry if it's over bearing. I didn't really intend for the story to go this way. But it did.  
_

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"–and then I left him." America finished reciting the afternoon's conflict to England as he sat curled up on one of his many leather couches. A gallon carton of ice cream lay empty on the floor, and the Television blared loudly, depicting the fruits of American consumerism, which America stared at as he confided in his former father-figure without fully comprehending it.

"Sounds more like you were throwing a wobbly." The cynical Englishman remarked. He didn't have much sympathy for America at times like these. Often times it was as much the young nation's fault as it was the offending party's. "Honestly Alfred, what did you expect the wanker to do? Give you a bloody bear hug like everything is all tickety-boo? Really Alfred, you must be more sensible when it comes to controlling your impulses. Do you realize the danger you put all of us in with your careless frivolity?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. It's all my fault. It's always my fault isn't it, Iggy?" America remarked dryly as he precariously balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder and with the same arm, retrieved the remote from between the couch cushions to surf the channels.

"I never said it was your fault."

"Well, you're implying it."

"No. Quite contrary, my point is that it takes two to tango. It was just as much his fault as it was yours. And that goes for this whole cursed conflict between you two just as well as it does for this afternoon."

"Why'd ya have to go and make this all relevant?"

"What do you mean _make_ it relevant? It all _is_ bloody relevant, Alfred! It has always been!"

"Sorry Iggy, Madonna's on MTV. What's relevant?"

The English nation buried his face in his palm in exasperation. "By George, Alfred. You and your pop culture! And by relevance, I mean _you_ _and Braginski_. The whole bloody thing you just vividly described to me over the phone, your Cold War, the tension between you and that_ barbarian_ that's been eating at you since 1917! It may be that I am what you would call a senile old duffer, but I honestly cannot see the real reason for your prolonged trifle. You're not in love with the bloke are you?"

For a long moment, nothing but static filled the receivers on the two men's telephones in America and England as the younger was struck dumb with surprise. On the other end of the line, the English gentleman folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair as he awaited his most cherished colony's response. When the silence stretched on past a minute, the British man became worried.

"Alfred?"

"Ah! Uh…ah haha! Wha-what were you sayin', Iggy?" The way the young nation sounded as he sputtered and stuttered at the other end of the line made England's thick eyebrows knit together and the thin corners of his mouth pull downward in confusion.

"Alfred, are you or are you not in love with Russia?" England spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable with care so there could be no possible way for America to pretend to not hear his inquiry.

"In _love_ with _Russia_?" America followed the exclamation with a loud, booming laugh. "You _are_ a daft old man! Golly GEE!" America walloped and slapped his knee in one of the loud, whooping laughs his southern regions were known for. "What made you dream up that mighty assumption, huh?"

Fairly frustrated with America's obvious denial, England scowled into the receiver as he spoke. "Well, for one thing, I am most certainly not the first nation to adopt the theory." He said sulkily. "And for another, it seems fairly obvious considering your history. You certainly had a fancy for him after the Civil War. While you were bed ridden, you told me over and over stories of Russia and how he sat at your side, but maybe you have forgotten. Even though I despise him and think him a brute, I was rather struck at his charity. After Russia turned Red, you seemed so hurt and it seems to me that you felt betrayed. And if it is not to bold of me, from the way you seem to hold onto your anger and resentment towards him, I believe that sense of betrayal has not passed. It may be all codswallop, but I believe that you hold your grudge against Russia because you love him, and you have always loved him yet cannot accept his decisions."

The long silence returned as America sat dumbfounded again on the other end of the line. It was with a breathless and shaky voice that he eventually replied. "N-no. I haven't forgotten what he did for me back then…" America swallowed hard, as if by doing so would also repress the images that surfaced in his mind of Russia pressing a much younger America, feverish and writhing in agony, to his chest and how he would gently rock him and kiss him and tell him the first time was always the hardest. "He stood by me when no one else would…when even you wouldn't."

"I know, America." England said, fighting his own lump of emotion. "And I am so sorry…for everything I did to you after your independence. I know now that I was in the wrong to treat you so."

"It's chill, Iggy." America smiled lightly as he spoke. "It's all behind us now. History is history."

England chuckled lightly, happy that America had returned to the bubbly, carefree mood he was always in. "It certainly is…"

All of a sudden, the heavy slam of a door was heard from America's end of the line.

"What was that, Alfred?"

As America chatted with England, he could hear the steady rumble of an engine from outside the house. Curious, he peered out the large windows that provided a view of the driveway. A shinny black car came to a halt outside and a certain tall scarf-wearing figure emerged from the passenger seat. He heard the front door creak open and slam shut loudly behind the uninvited intruder.

"Russia, speak of the devil." America whispered in response to the English nation. He could hear the Russian humming joyfully in the hallway.

"I guess that means I should go." England muttered, and ignoring America's unnecessarily loud protests, he hung up.

"And he always calls me the wanker." America spat. He slammed the phone down and folded his arms across his chest as he regarded the other before him coolly.

"Well, you've got a load of nerve." He said, as he scanned his azure eyes up and down Russia's form with burning hostility, much contrasting his mood of scarcely a minute before.

"Nerve, da? I do not know what you mean by 'nerve', Amerika." The Soviet nation replied. He wore an air of complete disregard and calm. It was as if the scuffle between them earlier that day had never taken place.

Russia approached America, choosing a comfy leather chair adjacent to him.

Completely unprepared for such civility, America gawked at the softly smiling man. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to provoke the other nation. Russia, as he sat then, with that silly, childish grin that was so particular of him, was untouchable.

"Well Amerika?" Russia asked, leaning forward expectantly. His hands were folded in his lap in a patient gesture, posture straight and attentive.

"I-I-I-" America stuttered in a feeble attempt to insult him, humiliate, prove him wrong of something, _anything_. When words left him in a bout of speechlessness, which was a rare occurrence with the young nation, he gave up with an exasperated huff.

Russia giggled. America hated it when he giggled. The sound was so light and bubbly, like an innocent child's, yet when coming from the deranged nation's lips it often foreshadowed something awful.

"It is alright, Amerika." Russia said and his sunny expression suddenly darkened as a cloud of seriousness came over it. "I know that you are still upset. I am quite frustrated myself, but we will not solve anything by fighting, da?"

Grudgingly, America was bent to cooperation with the one whom he had built up in his mind to be his most hated enemy. "What do you want, Ruskie?" he asked with a tired sigh. Though the words might have seemed provoking, his tone betrayed a reluctant submission to the other.

"I would like to talk with you…as Alfred Jones. If that is acceptable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have decided to be done with the pointless arguments, though they are for me most amusing." Russia said with a nostalgic smile and another quiet giggle. "I would like it if at least for tonight we put aside the prejudices of our people and talk person to person."

"But not quite heart to heart, eh" America said with a clever smirk.

"Nyet. I do not think we are quite ready for that yet, da." Russia agreed, giving America an equally impressive smirk.

"Me neither."

The two nations chuckled and for the first time in seventy years, the atmosphere between the two nations seemed immeasurably lighter, as if someone had removed just then all the mounting tension that had built up a wall between the two since 1917.

"Hey -er- Ivan?" America asked as the laughter died down and a more serious atmosphere stole over the room.

"Da, Alfred?" Russia answered. His voice seemed to hold the same nervousness as America's, the kind that always precedes any confession of sorts or an exposing of a truth.

"You're…erm…not such an evil communist after all." America said, turning his gaze to the television screen as an excuse to avoid Russia's imploring eyes. "I mean, you weren't always against me…like during the Civil War. I uh…I kinda miss that."

"You miss civil war, da?" Russia asked with a taunting smile. Oh how he loved to play games with the American!

"What? No!" America fidgeted uncomfortably. He hated confessions! They are always so unheroic and girly. "What I mean is…I-I miss you. Like not in the stupid romantic way but…aw fuck you know!"

America made a broad hand gesture to Russia, but wanting to hear the American say it for himself, Russia pretended not to understand what America was getting at and continued to stare at him with intense interest.

"I mean I miss how we got along, you know! We were on such good terms then! You let me have Alaska for like next to nothing, you know, and then when I was goin' all crazy and I thought my people were going to break me in half, you were there with me when even Iggy left me. I never forgot that, you know. So…I don't really know what I'm sayin' cause things happened and we're not like that anymore and we probably never will be…but thanks I guess for what you did for me then."

A long, tense silence filled the air left empty in the wake of America's words. America felt that it must have been the millionth awkward silence that evening. He turned his head to take a nervous glance at Russia, and saw a grin stretching his lips wider and wider in the creepiest slow smile he had ever seen.

"You remember, da?" Russia asked, lips quivering as he smiled. He was so happy!

"Y-yeah?" America shrunk back into the couch cushions, though he would never admit to doing something so un-heroic later.

"_You remember!_ Vy pomnite!" Russia suddenly launched himself from his seat, smothering America in a crushing hug.

"Ahh!" America struggled against the thick arms around him but to no avail. "God damnit! Get off me, ya big lug! You're crushing my-_ow!"_

Russia burst into one of his strange giggle fits and, after pressing a light kiss to America's cheek, removed himself from the flustered American to sit beside him on the sofa, still smiling hugely. America regarded him warily, even scooting a couple inches further back into the arm rest. Even when they seemed to be on good terms, America was so used to the obvious distance between them; it felt uncomfortable to have that separation gone.

"Well, I mean it wasn't _that_ long ago, was it?" America asked. "I mean, it's barely been one hundred and twenty years."

"Well da Alfred. Yes. It has not been very long at all to the rest of us, considering our age, but since you are much younger I presumed it would seem like a greater part of your history. And not to mention, Amerika, you were not quite how you say…in your right mind."

"From what I've heard, it sounds like you were kinda out of your head for most of your history too, but you obviously remember it well enough." America remarked somewhat defensively. And while thinking about Russia lapsing into those periodic moments of insanity, America's mind drug up a most uncomfortable memory. _I wonder if what happened back in Iceland was one of those weird moments of his…_

"Well, yes Amerika. I suppose that is very true…" Russia shifted uncomfortably.

"Ah~ehm, Russia?"

"Da?"

"Uh…do you remember our second meeting in Iceland last year?" America inquired nervously. _Just chill out, act casual. _

"Da, of course."

"I was just thinking about how we acted then and I was wondering why…" _Just spit it out!_ "I was wondering why you did that."

"Did what?"

America groaned and slapped his palm to his face. Why did Russia always have to be so blind? America took a deep breath to prepare himself. He hadn't actually fully accepted what he and Russia had done. "Why did you fuck me?"

"What do you mean _why_?" Russia smirked. Though he tried to keep up the game, his smile quivered slightly and he fought hard to hold his composure.

"What did you think would happen after?" America said, exasperated. "What made you even think of something like that? Was that just another mind game or one of your random insane moments? Or was there some other fucked up reason?"

Russia stared blankly at the amber-haired nation as he tried to form an accurate reply. He never thought about what they did might have meant to him. After all, he never really expected anything to come out of it…except possibly an end to that intense, maddening lust he had felt towards America that nearly drove him insane with want and hatred. The sex did help. Russia had yet to properly reward Prussia for his most helpful advice.

But now, the electric glow of the TV cast light and shadow across America's high cheek bones and the gentle line of his small nose. It was such a cute nose, Russia thought. And those pink cheeks and the slight curve of his lips. But Russia's favorite was America's eyes, though he always thought they'd look much better without those glasses. They were so full of hope, those eyes and the light and dark that played across his features made them shine. Russia felt some sort of emotion stir deep within his chest. It just like lust, however there was something else there too.

_Why do I feel this way?_

"To be honest, Amerika, it was Prussia's idea." Russia said. There, he had avoided any complex truths for now. "If you have not noticed, we seemed to be having a problem with, how you say, unresolved sexual tension, no?" Russia smirked at the flush that colored America's cheeks. "I thought it would help."

"Oh…yeah. That." America muttered, averting his attention back to the TV. _Well that was unexpected…_

"It did help, didn't it?" Russia asked, all too innocently.

"Uh, y-yeah! Sure, it did. Definitely no more UST between us now, comrade!" America said. His words _tasted_ fake. _But for some reason, I feel even worse… _

America refused to meet Russia's eyes. Why was he looking at him? A certain question continued to fester in his mind, working its way down from his brain into his mouth and to the tip of his tongue, but he bit back to try to hold it in. The silence was unbearable, yet both nations were extremely stubborn. America couldn't take it anymore.

"So what now, huh? What are we to each other now?" He exploded suddenly. "My people still want to hate you and yours want to hate mine, my Boss is still trying to get chummy with your Boss, my economy's doing like shit because of all these weapons and so is yours, and here's the two of us! What do you want to do, Russia? Do you want to keep fighting until our economies collapse and we get sick and die? Is one of us gonna back down? Are we just going to call it even and drop all the fucking shit that's happened these past forty years? _What are we going to do?_"

"I don't know, Amerika." Russia said solemnly. His voice had dropped to a low murmur. Then his eyes suddenly flashed up to meet America's blue ones and a sly grin split his face. "But I do know that a year ago you would have never referred to the two of us as 'we'. Good night, Alfred."

And with that, Russia stood from the sofa and retired to one of the many guest bedrooms, leaving America staring after him in shock.

"Commie bastard!" America muttered under his breath, though those two words seemed to be losing their force.

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**_Translations: _**

_A wobbly = a tantrum (I dont know. It's English... I just searched "funny British slang" and tried to incorporate as much of it as possible into Iggy's speech. I had fun. I'm sorry if it's over the top)_  
_tickety-boo = well-and-good/completely fine/ect__  
Vy pomnite! = you remember!_

**_FYI:_**_ - Russia was announced "communist" in 1917 (so my APUSH notes say...). From then until the end of the Cold War, America was extremely hostile towards Russians and all things associated. _

_- The 3rd Summit Meeting was a key turning point in USSR/American relations. For once, Regan and Gorbachev actually signed a treaty instead of arguing to a stalemate and political tensions between the two countries eased significantly. We were still at "war" as far as the people were concerned, but I believe things calmed down quite a bit. (correct me if I'm wrong)_

_I am stoked for the next chapter! 4th meeting OMG! I think there should be 2 more at least. but there will probably be more like 4 (including an epilogue) ...and then I need to get working on my prussiaxaustria AU and a fucktillion oneshots...and cosplays...and my guitar...XP WHY SO MANY HOBBIES? _

_Thankyou so much to everyone that reviewed! You really boosted my confidence! 3  
_


	8. Anticipation

_I'm so sorry about how long this took to update! My laptop's harddrive completely crashed for about a month in december and january and so I wrote this whole thing in a notebook and the computer without internet and then had to reload word on the laptop and all that crap, and we were trying to recover stuff from the old harddrive...which never happened :( so all of my stories, pictures and what-not from the last four years is completely gone! *sob* _

_Still, I am so sorry for how long this took! I seriously don't know how some of you are still reading this, but I'm so happy that you are!  
Thank you and enjoy!_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia, or history :)

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"Amerika is coming…"

This excited string of murmurings was made over and over again as heavy footsteps paced the length of the vast Soviet library. Silently fidgeting in the doorway, the Soviet-bloc nations watched their lord and master in awe from the door way.

It was the late spring of 1988. The collective economy of the grand Soviet Union was spinning into bankruptcy and every nation felt the toll on their vitality. Unease and restlessness spread like wildfire among the Bloc, especially among Hungary, East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and Romania. Lately, the four nations were abnormally defiant, though Hungary had always been so. With shallow cheeks and dim, hopeless eyes, the Soviet nations roamed like ghosts along the dark, decaying hallways of the grand Soviet house and in the midst of the despair, Russia lived in fear that his perfect dream, though very nearly attained, would ultimately fall short in the end.

However, as the dead white snows began to thaw and the black skies of winter rolled away temporarily in the coming of summer, the entire Soviet house seemed seized by a surge of hope. It was America; the Soviet nations felt it in their very bones, and could hear it in the hopeful cries of their people. Even Russia seemed abnormally vibrant and energetic at the coming of his most hated rival in their final meeting.

America was to arrive tomorrow and today the large manor was buzzing with excitement, yet there was still an ever-present apprehension lurking behind every smile and spoken word of celebration. In the coming of evening, this apprehension grew to excruciating anxiety, and with all the preparations at the Kremlin out of the way, Russia had returned home; his presence compounding the restless feeling tenfold.

"Amerika is coming!" He exclaimed again for the countless time, though this time instead of shouting into the empty room, he seemed to be directing his words at the huddle of nations in the doorway. Eyes shifted from neighbor to neighbor and whispers transferred until finally a longhaired brunette was shoved forward to confront the giant. Acting as if it was he who Russia had been speaking to all along, Russia directed his words at him unfazed. "I can hardly believe it, Liet! It has been ages since dear Amerika has come to our lovely home, da?"

"Yes Mister Russia. It has certainly been too long." Lithuania could hardly wait for America's visit. The two nations had been very close friends in the decade before the Second World War; however Lithuania hadn't seen his former bedfellow since the coming of the Great Depression. Though he was young and appallingly daft, there was something about the energetic, charismatic young nation that fascinated those of the Old World. He had a charming and care-free air that the elder nations had lost hundreds of years ago. He reminded them of an age when the earth was laden with gold and armies rode majestically into battle on elegant steeds, and vast, unconquerable empires ruled the earth with mighty navies. His restless energy resembled a time when the world had seemed so vast and new, and one look into those swimming azure eyes could bring you back in time.

America was a reflection of their young selves, and it was for that reason that they all loved him.

"Do you want us to clean the house up for his visit?" Lithuania asked. He felt uncomfortable under Russia's intense stare, but didn't let it show. It was easier for him that way. By the time Russia had created his Union, the Baltic state had grown very much used to living with his odd ways and was well versed in how to deal with them. Therefore, he missed much of the emotional trauma the others experienced early on in their life in the Soviet house.

"Ahhh~" Russia held his chin between his gloved thumb and forefinger as he thought a moment. "A little tidying would be nice, da. But do not change the place around. I have nothing to hide from Amerika any longer."

Lithuania wasn't completely sure what Russia had meant by his last statement, but was pleasantly surprised that Russia and America seemed to be easing up on each other. Though he dared not dwell on the it too long, in his heart of hearts he hoped dearly that their ease would lead to the fall of the Union and eternal peace, if that were at all possible.

"I am glad to see that you and Mister America are getting along much easier these days."

"Oh yes, Liet. We have been getting along exceptionally well." Russia gave a sly smirk, and his violet eyes shone in a way that made Lithuania shudder. Then, all emotion vanished and the towering nation turned from the brunette and left the room.

"Well dear brother, I'm off!" America announced loudly with a grand gesture of his hands and a theatrical bow to his smaller, timid twin. Canada giggled.

"I'll send a search party if you don't turn up after a week, eh?" He joked, giving his adventurous brother a playful punch to the stomach.

"Ha! As if!" America returned the assault with unnecessary force. "Hero's don't need rescuing!"

"Whatever you say bro." Canada rolled his eyes from behind his glasses and snorted. He then made a face and grabbed for the leather satchel that rested at his side, rummaging through the sack, retrieving a stack of black cassette tapes. "Oh! And here's some more Rush tapes. It's a long flight"

"Thanks Mattie!" America took the tapes gladly and showed his gratitude with a rough, quick hug and a slap to the back. "You're the best!"

"So I've been told…now go on and get out of here, or you'll miss your plane, eh!"

For the first time in a long time, America actually felt excited about attending a meeting! During the first couple hours of the flight, it was painful to sit; energy boiled in his veins. It wasn't the usual pre-meeting stress he usually felt; the kind that festers concentrated in the gut and makes your insides twist until you get sick. Rather, he felt as he when returning from the gym, fresh from a good workout and bursting with joyful endorphins. He was hyper; electrified. Even his action-packed Captain America comic books couldn't claim his attention now as he endured the eight hour flight (check).

He had been to Russia before, though it had been decades. It was now May and the sun smiled warmly on his dear land of freedom, but would the sun shine as brightly upon Russia's frozen tundra? It shone on Canada's, though only briefly in his short summer season. But when it shone at Canada's, it lit up the sky all day and night in one week long afternoon. It seemed logical that the sun would also shine upon the dark and secretive Soviet Union, yet to America it seemed so unlikely.

Despite all its coldness, its darkness, and the awful red flag, to America Russia's land had always been a world filled with wonder and excitement. Pictures of vast, rugged wilderness floated dreamily in America's head, just like the never-ending oceans of wheat grass in America's own desolate Great Plains. Flat, dead Tundra; immense, looming mountains; wild rivers; frozen wastelands; all encased within the saddest history of the oldest surviving nation. When he turned away from the burning prejudice of his people, and ignored their long war, Russia made America speechless with awe, and it was this awe that fueled his great excitement then.

And there was the others too! Hungary, Ukraine, Latvia, Estonia, and Prussia (or whatever they call him now) had completely vanished from his world as soon as the last World War ended. America could hardly wait to see their faces once more; especially Lithuania's. America recalled vividly the happy years the worrisome Baltic State spent with him more than sixty years ago. Though he often forgot about him during the tense past decades or simply tried to be apathetic, America missed Lithuania terribly.

As the flight wore on, however, his excitement began to dwindle, replaced with apprehension and anxiety, but it wasn't until they passed over the western boarder of the Soviet Union that America experienced real terror. The entire plane lapsed into dead silence; no American even breathed. Its amber-haired personification scanned the faces of the president's youthful guards with an expression as sorrowful as it was anxious.

"Well, I finally get to see the other side of the Iron Curtain." One of the young agents remarked quietly. Some of the others chuckled, while some only nodded gravely in agreement, and turned their heads to glance out the window with looks of unease.

_It's all my fault_. America thought shamefully, _it's my fault that my nation lives in fear of something they don't understand, and though I as the Nation knew everything, I only fueled their fire. It's my fault that these boys are scared._

Hours later, the president's jet landed in Moscow and its passengers stepped out under a cloudless blue sky and a warm, smiling sun. Outside the airport, the trees were lush and green, and from across the gray airfield, a colorful garden bloomed at the airport's entrance. Where was the ice and hail; the colorless gray, uniform buildings; the Blood red banners; the hammer and sickle? Where were the emotionless solders in dull gray, marching at every street corner and watching your every move? From what America could see, Russia's capital – the center of all evil and oppression – looked completely _normal_! And the weather was actually warm! Even though it was May, America figured that Russia would still be lying under a sheet of ice. He should have left his parka in D.C…

As America followed his president's armed escort out of the airport, he thought he caught a glimpse of a skinny brunette in the crowd. Breaking away from Regan and his agents, America desperately scanned the crowed for that familiar face.

"TORIS!" America cried, dropping his bags as he ran towards his old friend. He immediately pulled the nervous nation into a passionate hug. "Oh god, Toris! It's been too damn long old boy!" America pulled back after a long moment to study his features. The man's soft cheeks appeared shallower now and the wrinkles in his forehead, set from constant worry, had grown deeper, along with dark bags under his eyes. Yet Lithuania's face was still the same face America had been aching to see for decades. "Damnit Toris, I've missed the hell out of you! How's it been?"

"I am getting along well enough considering the circumstances." The Baltic State muttered quietly.

"You don't look so hot, man." America observed, holding Lithuania's shoulders at arm's length as he looked him over. "Has Russia been treating you badly?" A defensive tone crept into his tone as his overpowering sense of justice and love for his friend destroyed his reason. His grip tightened on Lithuania's shoulders and he gritted his white teeth angrily.

"Ivan is not at fault for my condition, and I am not the only one." Lithuania said, averting his gaze from America's eyes to his feet. "Our economy has been suffering greatly. None of us are doing well, Russia included. He wants to beat you so badly, Amerika, but I fear that he is not strong enough anymore."

"Wait, wait, Russia's sick?" America back-pedaled in shock. It seemed unfitting somehow that either him or Russia would fall at some point. This thing between them had gone on for so long; it seemed that it would never really end; that they would just keep turning out bigger and better missiles and space missions until the end of time. How could Russia be failing now?

"He will not admit to it of course." Lithuania said with a solemn shake of the head."But we can all see it in his step. This contest of yours is taxing him greatly, but he will never quit. I know he will not quit until you step down. He is a stubborn nation, America. Trust me. I have known Russia longer than anyone."

The words of the Baltic had a sobering effect on America. He remained silent for the entirety of the drive to the house where the entire Soviet Union lived; an enormous ancient house a few miles outside Moscow.

Lithuania helped America with his luggage. His boss and all of his agents had been put up in a hotel in Moscow, but thought it would be best if America stayed over at Russia's. The second Lithuania opened the door America was suddenly tackled by an albino mass.

"AMERICA HOLY SHIT! IT'S BEEN FOREVER, ASSHOLE!"

America groaned from under Prussia's weight and looked up into the albino's familiar face. Like Lithuania, he looked sickly, with deep dark circles under his eyes and no healthy glow to his face, though he was still the Prussia America knew.

America gave a grunt and shoved Prussia to the ground. "Nice to see you too, jerk-off!" America stood and Prussia let out a loud, barking laugh as America went on to great the other Soviet nations, though after a while he noticed that someone was missing.

Ukraine stood timidly inside the door way. When America approached her, he noticed that she looked the worst by far.

"Vanya wants to see you, America." She said in her soft voice.

"Hey, don't even say hello! What's up with that?" America carried on casually, ignoring the grave tone in her voice. He pulled her into a hug. "Ok, I can see the old Ruskie now."

America was led up a floating staircase; a beautiful and elegant wooden structure that wound upwards like a varnished serpent. It carried the brash superpower and his escort up three stories. Ukraine lead him down a long dim hallway lined with beautiful crimson wallpaper crossed with entwining golden vines. The wall paper was old and faded in patches; only adding to the gloom of the hall. At the end of the hall, America was brought to a small wooden door.

It was such a small, simple door that America was taken by surprise. For some reason he had pictured the door to Russia's bedroom as a large double-doored spectacle made with fine, polished wood like the entrance to some royal bedchamber. In truth, he felt almost guilty for entertaining such pre-conceived judgments.

Ukraine accompanied him into Russia's bedroom. He felt uncomfortable about being in a place as personal as the bedroom of the country he was at war with. Even considering the recent status of their relationship, tense but a whole lot less hostile, America still felt extremely unwelcome.

The interior of Russia's room hit America with a second wave of surprise, and like a tsunami, this one came larger and more powerful than the first:

It was like a child's room. That was the only way America could describe it. The room was very small and cozy and a modest fireplace warmed the little room on one end while on the rest of the walls were windows, all offering pleasant views of the cloudless blue sky. The room was circular in shape. America realized that he was standing in the turret he saw on the outside of the house when he arrived.

Shelves lined the walls, stacked with Russian fables and nursery rhymes and odd little trinkets; some America identified as old fashioned toys. There were a few wooden soldiers modeled after different ages, artfully painted tops, Russian nesting dolls, and many other odd little toys America couldn't name. Paintings of saints and Mary and Jesus also hung on the walls, to America's surprise, and the works of famous philosophers from Plato to Rousseau, Hobbes, and even America's own activist, Thoreau hid amongst the folktales.

Russia lay in the small, single person bed across from where America stood, struck dumb in the doorway. The quilt covering him was faded with age – like everything else in this house seemed to be – but the artfully stitched sunflowers that adorned the blanket still seemed to shine from out of the fabric. America noticed the younger sister of Russia, the one with the longer white blonde hair, sitting dutifully at his side, with her long slender hands clasped around his large thick ones. At the sound of America's entry, her loving gaze she had fixed upon her brother froze up and shattered, and a glare as deadly as frostbite was instantly thrown at the two intruders.

"What is _he _doing her sister?" Belarus hissed. In America's mind, her tone resembled exactly that of a snake; a deadly Viper or rattlesnake to be more specific.

"Brother has a very important meeting with Mr. America tomorrow," America noticed that the sweater sister, Ukraine, struggled to keep her tone calm and even.

"Well it is obviously not as important as his immediate condition! Am I the only one in this world that cares for big brother? Am I the only one that sees the terrible condition he is in? America hurts big brother! All he does is hurt! I will never allow him to get near my beloved brother! Never!"

"Woah, woah lady! I'm not gonna hurt anyone!" America held his hands up in defense. He remembered well how strong Russia's younger sister's feelings for him were and how unstable she could get. Why, when contemplating his visit did he not take _her _into account?

"_You lie!_" Belarus hissed, rising from her seat as if to shield Russia from America and Ukraine with her tense body. "America lies!"

"Sister, enough!" Ukraine's voice came out with an unwavering firmness America never knew she was capable of. With those two words, she struck Belarus and seemed to knock her down to some reasonable level of sanity. "America is not here to hurt our brother! Brother hurt himself! Now, if you would please let them alone for no more than five minutes, I promise you nothing will happen!"

Belarus fell quiet and after giving a cold, calculating gaze at Ukraine, and then America, and then over to her sleeping brother, and back to America, she reluctantly agreed.

"Fine, fine!" Belarus snapped, waving dismissively with her hands. She allowed Ukraine to take her by the elbow and lead her out of the room.

The instant the bedroom door clicked shut, silence immediately engulfed the room and the distance between America and Russia seemed to have expanded greatly, turning into a giant chasm. During the entire trifle with Belarus, America believed Russia to be sleeping, but he was very much awake now; staring at the nervously fidgeting America with large violet eyes.

Awkwardly, America shifted his weight to his right foot, then his left, debated for a moment, then with an unintelligible mumble, he crossed the chasm between them and sat wordlessly on the chair beside him, face turned towards the window.

Russia watched the whole episode with his lips clamped tightly to keep from laughing. America's actions were always so dramatic and he never tired of watching them. When his companion flopped down onto Natalia's stool and immediately turned away from him, it glaringly obvious that America was begging Russia to speak to him even though he pretended to show no interest. The display was so childish and Russia let loose a fit of giggles.

America started and turned to Russia with appalled eyes. He sat; fuming in angry silence as Russia's giggles slowly subsided.

"What?" America asked curtly.

"Ah, nothing at all, Amerika! You are just so amusing sometimes!" Russia said through stifled giggles, and then abruptly fell silent and resumed the intense stare he had given America when he stood across the room. America raised a questioning eyebrow and shifted in his seat.

_Russia is so weird! Why is he staring at me like that?_

"So…um…how are you feeling?" America spit the words out. He had to break that strange stare! Luckily, it worked.

"I am feeling well enough…considering the circumstances." Russia said, shifting in his bed to a sitting position.

"Do you think you'll make it to the meeting tomorrow?"

"I have full confidence that I am well enough to sit through a dreary meeting." Russia said curtly. "I do not lay in this bed by choice, nyet. You seem to underestimate my strength, Amerika. May I remind you that I have endured much worse?"

"Right…" America nodded and left off any smart-alecky remarks his brain shot forth. America thought his question to minor to deserve apology, and despite the curtness of his words, America was able to detect from Russia's expression and manner that his apparent irritation was only half-hearted, if there at all.

It was then he realized how well he knew Russia. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. Decade after decade, they tested one another's wit and cunning. They tried each other's patience, and challenged their strength. His spies infiltrated Russia's deepest secrets and Russia's did his. It made perfect sense that now America found himself able to tell which of Russia's smiles were fake or genuine; which ones masked underlying anger or malicious intent. He knew the danger of those child-like gazes and the odd light that at times gleamed in his violet eyes when his patience was strained to the last fiber. He could push Russia to the limit and then bring him back down before he could strike like a yo-yo, and Russia could to the same with him. They could mold each other like clay, and though they did so every day, America was never aware of how deeply he and his enemy were connected until that very moment at Russia's bedside.

The thought of it frightened America beyond words. Yet even worse, he was not upset by any of it, and that was terrifying.

"You must feel very happy that there will be no more meetings, da?"

America opened his mouth to say _'yes'_ but found that 'yes' was not true. While he really wanted to say something along the lines of '_Hell yeah!'_ or '_you betcha commie!"_ he found that it would be a lie, and a hero never lies. No more meetings meant no more tactical planning, or pressure from his boss, or expectations from the people and other countries. Everything would go back to normal. He would stay in his country and never have to worry about pleasing anyone, but when he thought about it, all of the stress, the planning, the travel, and all the pointless arguments were sort of _fun_.

He could never tell Russia all that, even if he read it right off his face, so he took a breath, looked Russia straight in the eye and lied. "Yeah, I guess I am." He said, screaming at himself all the while.

Russia's eyes closed and he nodded his head silently. "I see." He said. America internally winced at their sharpness. "I would appreciate it if you left me alone, Amerika. I am feeling suddenly weak and I must rest for tomorrow."

Suddenly, America was on his feet without realizing he had moved. His feet moved him deftly to the door on their own, faster than he wanted them to. He had to force himself to stop at the doorway.

"I'll see you tomorrow I guess."

Russia gave a single nod.

"And, uh…get better, okay?"

He didn't wait for a reply before he closed the door.

* * *

_Background: In 1983, Regan announced a strategic Defense Initiative (called Star Wars by the way) which was pretty much an anti-missle system in space. It was too advanced to actually be constructed but the idea of it was enough of a challenge to the Soviet Union that (long story short) they ended up going bankrupt from trying to develop a superior technology even though "Star Wars" wasnt even possible. The Soviet economy was also weak because of Gorbachev's reforms that were taking place, and the alliances between Russia and the rest of the Soviet Union were rapidly weakening at this time as well. I don't believe revolutions start becoming a problem for another year or so, but the influence of the Communist party in the Soviet bloc was loosing ground. _

_Also, my US History notes from last year say that Regan was still president at the last summit meeting, but an article I just read when checking my info said that George Bush numero uno had been elected the year of the last summit. If anyone knows for sure that Regan was not president during this meet, let me know and I can change it :)_


	9. Moscow Summit 4

_sorry I made you guys survive another long wait! The good news is AP exams and SATs are done now and I finally finished making my prom dress and pirate!france cosplay so my time can be devoted to finishing this sucker! this was actually supposed to be up on sunday but my brother stole the computer again...(I know its not for homework kiddo. I know what you're doing on there for five hours)_

_The plan was to have this chapter encompase the entire fourth summit...but it was getting LONG and there was alot to write about because I dont think I covered much in the previous summits...but I really should go reread them because I cant remember...  
So I'll be able to squeeze another lengthy chapter out of the Moscow Summit because it was epic. Which is good because I'm having fun. :)_

_The disclaimer still stands true. I've never owned so little as a single word!_

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The next morning brought apprehension. For some unexplained reason, America woke at the crack of dawn, well before his alarm startled him awake. Unable to relapse back into sleep, he took the liberty of skimming the day's agenda.

A meeting with their bosses and their advisors was first on the agenda. "Oh boy. I can't wait…" America grumbled with dripping sarcasm as his eyes skimmed the chief topics of the meeting.

At least arms control was up first; America's favorite. The only problem was Regan was trying to make him _reduce_ his weapons and America had grown quite attached.

A private lunch was next and that sounded even more fun. There was nothing America despised more than those private luncheons. They were stiff and formal; always reserved in immaculate restaurants with fine, breakable china, overly priced food and wine so dry he could feel the saliva instantly evaporate from his mouth with every sip. They were all about status and appearances; the two things America had loathed since his childhood. Maybe he and Russia could escape and grab a beer.

Immediately following was more meeting on the facinating subject of human rights; in other words, the single thing he and Russia disagreed on the most.

America jotted a few notes in the margins; a few tough, valiant phrases from his favorite Clint Eastwood and John Wayne movies, and stashed away the itinerary in the sleek black suitcase he reserved for Soviet meetings only. It was extremely expensive and the compactness of it combined with the smooth, clipped edges wraped in glossy black made him look intellegent and official; a winner in Russia's eyes.

Looking to the bedside clock, America took note that it was nearly time for him to be "awake" and commence making preparations for the long day of negotiations ahead. He showered and dressed slowly, taking advantage of the extra time his early wakefulness allotted him, and made a bee-line for the Soviet kitchen.

The kitchen was crammed full of bodies. Granted, it was large enormous, large enough to hold ten people comfortably, but not nearly large enough to fit twenty-one hungry nations. Their system was chaotic. There was no uniform menu, no general diet and it seemed as though everyone was trying to carry on their own individual cultural traditions in the same kitchen. Hungry, Ukraine and five others bickered over the stove. There was only one small gas stove and nearly a dozen needed it. All cupboards and iceboxes were open; each icebox containing a different nation's traditional foods. Lithuania was cutting up a varriety of cheeses and meat which Poland kept stealing and little Latvia was poised precariously on his tiptoes, trying to reach a mug for his hot Kvass, but was constanly being shoved aside and trampled by the taller nations as they fought over scant bowls, plates, and mugs. Prussia seemed to have given up carrying on his ancient customs some time ago and while everyone else was pushing and shoving, and bickering and complaining, he sat alone at the single large table in the adjacent room with his booted feet propped on the immaculate, white table cloth, gulping down a bottle of beer. Desperately wanting to avoid the chaotic tumult of the entire Soviet Union in one kitchen, America sat next to the Germanic nation.

"Morning" America said with a small salute to the albino.

Prussia acknowledged with a nod as the remnants of the bottle were discarded into his waste-bucket mouth. Prussia set the glass bottle loudly on the tabletop and smirked at America's gray business suit and tie.

"Meeting with Russia today?" He asked. "I would say the Soviet Union; except since the other twenty of us are not represented, it can't really be called a union can it?"

"I guess not." America mused, perturbed by Prussia's cold remark. There was a moment of painful silence as the blonde, specked nation sat brooding and the albino reached for another beer from an ice bucket on the floor. He bit off the cap with a grunt and commenced his solemn drinking.

America swallowed apprehensively before speaking. "Germany misses you." He said finally. "I know it might not seem like it but NATO hasn't forgotten you guys."

"To hell with NATO!" Prussia drawled in a slightly drunken stupor. "In the grand scheme of everything, what have you all really done to help if I and the others are still here?"

America's lips made odd shapes as they tried out different words to form; words with charisma, something consoling or touching or inspirational. America found he couldn't think of anything. It was something that was happening a lot lately. In ages past, America was a master at twisting language. He always had the right word, the perfect phrase that turned a bad idea into something golden. It was Russia and his Union that turned his words against him now. Anymore, America's words were either barbs that worked against him, or there were simply none left to use.

So America said nothing.

The powerful blonde nation of the West sat beside the alienated eastern country and watched the brown frothy liquid pour into that gaping mouth like a funnel from the bottle. It was as if by doing so, Germany's Eastern brother might swallow his loneliness with it and find a solution at the bottom of that empty beer bottle that would reunite him with his western half.

Russia had appeared soon after America and Prussia's disturbing exchange. He appeared much livelier than he had when America met with him the afternoon before in his bedroom. Dark rings still lingered under his dimmed amthyst eyes however and he looked tired. Lithuania had thoughtfully fried America potatoes and bacon, a breakfast he often made for him during the Baltic's brief stay overseas. The morning meal and ride into Moscow were relatively silent, as America found there was nothing he wanted to say to the Communist that he wouldnt be made to say in the long meeting ahead.

The Kremlin Palace was as majestic and beautiful as it had been on their last encounter decades earlier, only this time America felt more appreciative of the Italian-crafted towers and ancient cathedrals within its walled interior. Inside he was led again through over-arching golden hallways, past magnificent tapestries, and beneath dangling chandeliers to their designated conference room. America always wondered why his fellow, albeit much older, nations mixed the finest, most beautiful art with subjects so mundane as politics, and yet he wondered at the failure of their children of the modern age to do the same.

Miraculously, the living countries arrived on time. With civil handshakes prompted by their leaders, the rival nations took their places on opposite ends of a long and narrow antique table and the fourth and final round of meetings commenced.

President Regan rose from his seat and America watched with admiration as his beloved leader prepared to speak.

"Here today we have arrived at the fourth and final Summit between the United States and the Soviet Union." The middle-aged world-leader began. His voice boomed across the table and stretched out to reach every ear in the cavernous room as his wrinkled, suntanned cheeks sagged and stretched with his lips to form peace-offering words. "And I am proud to say that we have made history. These past few years have had a long time coming as these two great nations have battled over our many differences in government, morals, and aspirations. However, despite all of our strife, one thing the Soviet and American people both hold is the common dream of peace. We have signed multiple arms agreements; we have cut down our holdings on nuclear weapons significantly on both sides; we have discussed human rights and shared some of our country's most cherished values. However despite all we have done, there is still so much more to do before sustainable peace can be achieved between us. I hope that with this final meeting set in the 'Patriarch of Moscow', the nations of the United States and the Soviet Union may come to a mutual agreement on all fronts, and that our single common dream may be achieved."

The ex-movie star returned to his seat with an air of finality and closure. In the silence, Russia's smaller, charismatic old leader came to a stand.

"Today the United States and Soviet Union shall continue that peaceful discussion regarding the subject of human rights, which the American people find to be such an important and cherished virtue as well as a continuation of the discussion around an agreeable policy for the United State's SDI proposal; a development that is relatively unspecific and confusing for the Soviet Union and leaves much room for assumption and suspicion. If peace is to happen as you, Mr. Regan have promised, the Soviet Union requires a more specific agreement."

As Russia's leader silently took his seat, the Soviet nation stood abruptly.

"I believe, Amerika, that our governments had agreed upon a ban on all satellite-controlled missiles and other nuclear weaponry. It is disturbing to me and the Union that the United States is continuing to develop a space-operated system of laser technology after that treaty was passed, according to Soviet intelligence. I do hope, Amerika, that a new ban might protect us from your laser beams as well?"

"_Soviet intelligence?_" America shot to his feet; cheeks aflame, eyes burning with rage. "You _do_ have spies in my country!" He cried, pointing at Russia from across the length of the table, an accusatory finger. "I knew it!"

"America, please sit down." President Regan ordered in a weary, albeit threatening tone.

"No! This slippery bastard's been lying to me this whole time! I thought you trusted me, you lousy Commie! I thought you said we wanted the same thing!"

"I could say the same to you, Amerika!" Russia shot back. "You think that when I want you to try food it is because I poisoned it! Clearly the feeling is mutual comrade. I thought that we were past such immaturity but I suppose I was wrong."

"Rossiya , uspokoĭtesʹ...pozhaluĭsta." Gorbachev warned timidly.

Russia turned toward his leader and by the way his eyes burned, it looked as if he was about to unleash a torrent of rage on elderly man. He opened his mouth, then froze suddenly, debated for a second, and sat down heavily on his chair.

"Hmm. I suppose I am over-reacting after all…" He muttered. Despite the civil tone, it was apparent that the irritation was still present, buried deep. "If we are truly past the pointless bickering, we must prove it, da Amerika?"

"I guess so…" America mumbled in defeat. He returned to his seat in solemn dejection.

"Anyways," Russia continued his counter-argument as if no interruptions had taken place. "I would find it most unfair if the United States were allowed to keep special space technology and the Soviet Union were not."

America had to bite back strings of witty and vengeful remarks as he formed his reply. "Yes, but this is _laser _technology. Since it is not nuclear, it doesn't count under the treaty."

"Ahh! I see now!" Russia said in revelation. "So if the Soviet Union develops similar technologies, we may be allotted them?"

America fidgeted uncomfortably. He hadn't thought that Russia would want to jump on the bandwagon with him on this SDI thing. What if the Russians really could create space lasers? STAR WARS was really as of yet, just another awesome idea. The technology needed to make it happen wouldn't be around for decades, maybe a century! But what if Russia found a way…

"Err…yeah. I guess you could…if you find a way to develop it before we do." He chose his words with careful craft; threading in a thinly veiled challenge to the USSR that would make Russia want to prove his strength.

It worked.

Russia's eyebrows raised and then his face warped into a devious grin. He was itching for a challenge. "Oh do not worry, Amerika. My finest scientists are already at work."

"And so are mine." America grinned back and inside the room, the atmosphere thickened to new suffocating levels as competitive testosterone filled the void between the two nations.

The press and ambassadors present fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats, hands paused over their clean notebooks, unsure of what to record. The two world leaders shook their heads in silent embarrassment. Maybe there would always be rivalry between the two nations no matter what policies were passed.

The rest of the morning went by smoothly, as no more blunders between the volatile pair occurred. Russia agreed to allow STAR WARS to survive as long as his scientists could pursue their own research on America's outlandish idea and America agreed, albeit reluctantly, to the nuclear arms reductions their governments had proposed on them during their last meeting.

Honestly, both nations loved their nuclear stockpiles more than almost anything else. To both, they were such a refreshing change from the tiresome hand-held weapons of the past. Since the Manhattan project, America became fascinated with the bomb and the intricate science that made their fantastic explosions possible. They were terrible vehicles of destruction, and neither ever truly _wanted_ to use them as such. They merely loved testing the man-made monstrosities in remote deserts and gazing on at the billowing mushroom cloud in awe.

After four hours of dull, grueling meeting in fact, America and Russia had wasted long minutes jabbering excitedly about the latest tests their people had made, describing with tireless enthusiasm the magnitude of the explosions and the complexity associated with them. Seeing that the two were unable to keep focused and the rest of the room's occupants were either fast asleep or being slowly starved to death, the two presidents adjourned the meeting for a lunch break.

"Russia, Amerika, you two will be joining us at the private luncheon the Embassy has kindly arranged, yes?" President Gorbachev asked, stopping the idly chatting nations in the corridor.

"Well, Mr. Gorbachev," America started, giving his towering companion a friendly, inviting smile. "While a private lunch with you and Ronny sounds like great fun, I think ol' Russia and I were planning on grabbing a few beers…or vodkas or something."

"We would much prefer to have our own '_private lunch'_ if that is acceptable, sir."

"O, konechno!" The Russian president and Ronald Regan exchanged surprised glances.

"Yes, I believe that will be alright." Regan said, and bid both countries pleasant afternoons before leaving them to saunter leisurely behind.

"Where would you like to eat, Alfred?" Russia inquired after a moment's awkward hesitation. "After all, you are the guest and I am obligated to treat you."

"Uhh…yeah sure, if you want." America said indifferently. He never objected to being "treated". "I'm always down with a burger but I sort of want to try some Russian food. Just pick something good; not anything raw or with weird stuff."

Russia's face burst in a joyful glow. "Okay! I know the perfect place! Hurry, hurry!"

A large hand, cool to the touch and rough with calluses wrapped around America's wrist and he was suddenly being dragged down the hall all the way to the front of the Kremlin, stumbling in the wake of Russia's invigorated steps.

Russia led America into a cab in the streets outside the palace wall and spouted directions to the driver in unintelligible Russian. America felt left out when they bantered in the foreign tongue. He felt conspired against when Russia casted odd glances in his direction as the cab sped through the streets, ever nearing Moscow's bustling center.

Russia paid the driver and led America from the automobile onto a busy street. Cars and pedestrians sped here and there in their desperation to get to wherever at whenever while Russia and America walked slowly through the throng.

America was led to a small gray stone establishment that lied squeezed between two larger buildings and squashed from the top by towering apartments built on its top. The little building looked like one of those hole-in-the-wall places no one ever knows about and when Russia led him inside, America found the dim and small space to be very comfortable and warm.

The pair sat at a small two-person table near a grimy window. Russia conversed with a tall, brawny man with a thick black mustache and beard and a dirty apron; again in Russian. It appeared as if he was very well known and welcome. Russia spouted out some odd words in what sounded like a list, as though he were already ordering something, and the man took note with a smile and nod and left.

"What did you say?" America asked, slightly miffed that he was being led blind by the barrier of language and had no idea where he was or what Russia was about to force down his throat.

"I ordered Bitochki. You will love it, Alfred. It is very good. This restaurant is famous for them."

America eyed the smiling Russian skeptically. "My CIA has been trained me in detecting poisons by the way. So I'll know if you try anything weird."

Russia scowled. "I thought we were past all the biased suspicions, Alfred! You disappoint me with your mistrust." Russia's lower lip jutted out slightly in the resemblance of a pouty face and America felt his knees go weak under the table. It was the cutest face he had ever seen the frozen, scarf-wearing giant make and he hoped for dignity's sake he would never make that face when they were together in public.

"Well I never know with you." America said. For a brief moment, their faces were serious and guarded before they collapsed into grins. They both chuckled loudly in thought of their absurdity.

"You know what's funny?" America said, leaning closer over the table with his arms folded on its top.

"Hmm?" Russia leaned forward as well, resting his chin on a fist.

"Maybe it's just me, but do your bosses ever grill you on the past? Like, do they ever call you over to their office to make you sit down with them for hours and tell them about what life was like before their parents even lived?"

Russia snickered. "All the time!" He cried. "It is so humorous! The humans are always begging for knowledge, some glimpse into the past. It is almost as if they think something good will come of it, or that they could re-live the world."

"I know! Good old Franklin Roosevelt did it the most I think. I don't blame him though…he sort of used what I told him in some of his reforms when he tried to get me out of my depression."

"I believe Mr. Lenin was most interested in me." Russia reflected. "He would always make me tell him stories of my strength when I was an Empire. I believe he had me tell of my defeat of Mongolia a hundred times. I wonder what humans get out of the past. They are always so fascinated by it…I know I would much rather forget it myself if only they would let us."

"True that." America murmured. "True that…"

The burly bearded man returned with two platefuls of that alien food Russia praised so highly. Sat in front of him, the dish reminded America of hamburger patties, except the buns were missing and over the top of the meat patties was a thick white sauce. America eyed it cautiously.

Russia laughed. "Just eat, Alfred! You will love it, trust me."

With one, last careful examination, America lifted a fork and carefully brought a serving to his mouth.

Russia watched as he chewed and swallowed; delight evident on his cherub face when America dove in for another, much larger mouthful.

"Do you like it?" He asked happily.

America swallowed and looked down at his food. "Well, if you were trying to make hamburgers you messed up pretty bad, but it's pretty damn delicious."

"You see Alfred? To think you were so worried…" Russia giggled.

"Yeah? Well it could have happened. You very well could've been plotting against me the whole time and you know it."

"You are so cute, Alfred." Russia said softly.

"Heroth aren't cuth." America said during a large mouthful. "I'm way too manly."

"I am sure." Russia said, playing along as he scarffed his own meal.

The pair proceeded to devour their meal in blissful silence. It was only when they had finished eating and rested against the backs of their chairs to rest their full gullets that America bothered to glance at his watch and notice the time.

"Damn! It's already almost two O'clock! We'll be way late, man!"

The conference room was already full when the two nations arrived at the Embassy. They took their seats silently and smiled sheepishly at their leaders, who each gave their country quizzical looks.

After a moment's pause, the American leader stood from his seat and cleared his wrinkled throat.

"The American government has found the Soviet Union's methods of government to be lacking in providing its citizens the basic human rights necessary for freedom and general well-fare. The United States has long been uncomfortable the Communist doctrine and under this afternoon's agenda, the United States and its representatives propose changes to be made."

"Mr. Regan, I am aware that my past leaders' methods have been…questionable. However, I must remind you tha tGeneralʹnyĭ Sekretarʹ Gorbachev and myself have indeed already made many changes! Why, never before have my people been able to talk and write so freely! My little children's text books are being re-written to get rid of Stalin's lies and there are many nasty little newspapers saying horrible things about me that go unpunished. I am becoming much like your free-for-all democracy! I think I might have to change my name, nyet?"

America looked nervously at his president and bit his lip. How was he going to say this with starting another fight with Russia? The volatility between them could be quite inconvenient.

"It's true, Russia, that you guys have done a lot these past four years; even I'm impressed. But I can't be sure how free your press really is. According to American intelligence and interviews I've had with some of your people, it sounds like the freedom you give your people is still limited. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't there a radical paper that was shut down in Stalingrad a few weeks ago? There are even people who want the old regime back who are being silenced. And your people are still denied the right to own private property, and from what I've heard it sounds like atheism is still encouraged."

"And if my memory serves me correctly, it was the American government that forced the Native Americans to become Christians and took away their ancient land. Your government forced a race of ancient people there long before you onto tiny impoverished lands called reservations, yet they don't truly own their own homes at all. Before you lecture me on the state my people's freedom _Amerika_, maybe you should take a look at yours."

That furious blush rose again to America's cheeks. His liquid blue eyes froze to piercing icicles again and it seemed that a second tussle that day was inevitable. America was always extremely sensitive about the state of the few native tribes that struggled to survive in his lands. Russia had hit a nerve even his own politicians were too scared to nudge, and by far the most infuriating part of Russia's stinging attack was that he was right.

Russia being correct meant that America lost this battle. There was nothing he could do or say that would turn the situation to his favor in a way that wouldn't prompt a World War III. Losing to Russia was losing to America's own people. America could do _nothing_.

The two world leaders, the International Press, the CIA and the KGB, and the personification of the failing Soviet Union all centered their gazes on America's face. The silence that followed Russia's attack grew exponentially, and it was now painfully evident that for the first time, the hero of the Western world had nothing to say. The few men from the special forces on both sides looked at one another and the weapons they concealed with confusion. The International Press lowered their cameras and ceased their obnoxious flashing. Ronald Regan looked to his country with sympathy and Mikhail Gorbachev appeared to be surprised.

Russia's triumphant smile slowly waned as he realized his rival had no retort coming. His eyes took in the injured expression that turned that valiant death-defying hero into another lost and lonely soul, and his lips pressed into a hard, grim line.

"Human rights are simply a matter of principal, Amerika." Russia concluded finally. "The West has its principals, and I have mine. I am afraid in a home such as my own; I feel that what ideals might have prevailed among your own people would have no place among mine. Democracy does not work well with me, Amerika. That is something you need to understand."

"Thank you, Russia. We will take that into consideration in the future, wont we, America?" President Regan looked to his nation expectantly.

"Yeah…" The mumbled word left the nations mouth but all in the room knew the words of America's leader were not computing in his nation's dumb-struck mind. His eyes were hard and focused on nothing in particular, and it was apparent that the country was in deep thought.

As always, America and Regan's attempt at a human right's discussion ended in failiure but as the group of four pushed their way through a dense throng of reporters outside the Kremelin, America couldnt help but feel a small sense of accomplishment.

Two long press conferences and an uncomfortable dinner later, Russia and America entered the Bolshoi Ballet, accompanying the two world leaders and their wives; all sparkling and shimmering in their finest evening attire.

America was exhausted. Peace meetings like these were grueling and long; wearing on one's wit as well as patience. This, America thought, the mother of all peacetalks, was especially so. For it was not simply about signing treaties, but about rebuilding a relationship that had become so distorted and warped through time that there was nothing that could mend it completely.

The party was seated in the finest seats in the house; a large secluded balcony overlooking the stage with a fantastic view. The leaders and their wives were separated from the two nations by a partial wall, and so the two rivals were left alone, hearing only the occaisional loud, cackling laugh of President Regan's chatty wife, who always treated America like another son. As the ballet began Russia explained its long tradition and the stories behind the ancient ballet as America watched the swirling dancers bellow in boyish wonder.

During the first half of the ballet, the two nations sat comfortably close. Their arms touched as they leaned over the balcony to watch, and occaisionally America would playfully tug on the golden tassels that hung from the shoulders of the Romanov-era military coat Russia had worn for sentimental reasons.

"They just look funny." he would always explain as a soft blush rose to his cheeks when Russia met his eyes quizzically.

"You simply don't understand old customs." Russia would retort with a proud upturn of the nose. The faint pink dusting his cheeks was obvious however, and it was obvious that Russia was trying to hide it. The Soviet nation hadn't the faintest idea why the nation at his side's explicit, un-restrained nature seemed so endearing to him lately. Maybe it was because the closet-incident in Iceland really _did_ resolve some pent-up tension between them and in the absense of it, he was able to become familiar with his rival; to notice the good along with the bad he had come to know so well.

"D-do you enjoy the ballet...Alfred?" Russia's tongue felt thick. His mouth had run dry and he struggled against his sticky throat to form the awkward words.

"Yeah! This is really neat! I had no idea shows could be so old! I mean, I have Broadway, but the shows change all the time. There's probably a new one every few months! How do you not get bored of the same stories?"

"They are apart of me." Russia said simply. "As much apart of me as Moscow. I look forward to their performances each and every time."

America nodded and shifted his weight silently. "This has been a hell of a time for us hasnt it? I mean, look at how much things have changed in a couple years...our countries...towards eachother I mean."

"Da. Things have changed, but where do we go from here? It seems inevitable that our silent war will end, yet one of us will have to surrender or fall. I do not want to fall, Alfred. I am quite happy with the Union I created. It is much like a family. I am never alone anymore!"

America bit his lip. "I dont know what will happen...I'm scared of falling too." America felt as if they had just admitted a most intimate secret; the vulnerability they held from one another. Feelings of regret stirred with in him, yet there was also a feeling of imense relief.

"Why dont you surrender then, rebenka?"

"Why don't you go first, commie."  
Their eyes met, hard and serious for a second before the blonde dissolved into nervous laughter and the elder smiled.

"I bet you would like to see that, da?" Russia's voice dropped to a low murmmur. A gloved hand brushed against America's tuxedo jacket. "to see me surrender to you, to give myself completely."

America's heart thundered in his ears erratically as adrenaline sped through his veins. His blood boiled, hot like fire. He was excited, yet terribly afraid. "I'd _love_ it." He said.  
He turned to face the amethyst eyes and the leather hand tightened its grip at his side as another touched his jaw. America angled his head as Russia bent his to bring their lips together.

The kiss was gentle; more gentle than they had ever been with eachother at least. Their lips moved in a slow and steady rythm and America sighed as Russia's hand traveled past his cheek to bury itself in his amber locks, deepening the kiss.

This was mutual, equally matched and equally willing. Neither fought for dominance as it was not a battle to be won.

A tongue touched America's lips and he opened his mouth, granting Russia access. His mouth was filled, yet it was not an invasion. Russia explored the insides of America's mouth, lazily stroking the roof of his mouth and tongue without any threat of malintent.

The kiss grew in urgency and their breath came in ragged, uneven gasps the scant moments they allotted themselves air. Hands roamed anxiously over arms, faces, torsos and tangled in hair and with each passing moment the fire was stoked hotter and hotter and nothing could put it out.

Music flooded their ears as the orchestra signaled the end of intermission. Reluctantly, America pulled his mouth from Russia's air-tight embrace. "Maybe...we should...go somewhere more...private..." His breathless words came in fragments between gulps of air. Catching his own breath, Russia nodded and watched the blonde fondly as he smoothed out his ruffled hair and straightened his suit to appear as composed as possible. The pair rounded the divider that separated them and their leaders, approaching the humans timidly.

"Hey Ronald!" America gained the attention of his boss. "I think old Ivan and I are gonna hit the sack for the night, if that's okay."

The American president took a long, measuring look at the state of the two nations before him. Russia's tousled silver hair, and the rumpled state of their evening clothes gave the Republican middle-aged man an uncomfortable gut-feeling. He noted his nation's flushed cheeks and the peticular way Russia's fingers lingered at the waistline of his trousers, much like an eager couple on the night of their wedding.

Gorbachev coughed once and Russia's hands dropped shamefully.

The wives of the presidents stared at the personifications of their homelands in shock and revulsion.

"Dont ask, dont tell." The American president muttered and quickly turned his back to his country to watch the ballet.

* * *

_Translations: _

_Rossiya, uspokoit'sya...pozhaluista. - Russia, calm down...please. _

_O, Kochechno! - Oh, of course! _

_Rebenka - child_

_FYI: _

_The breakfast scene with all the Soviet Nations was meant to symbolize the terrible economic situation the entire Union was in at the time. It had always been terrible and supply shorteges in basic foods and essentials were common, and nearly every country had a different cusine and customs. So it must have been difficult to keep them all under one government for so long. _

_Bitochki is a Russian dish (obviously). It looks sort of like hamburger patties with cream sauce so I immediately thought it would be something Ivan would feed Alfred. I havent made them but they look really tasty! _

_And I know the "dont ask dont tell" policy wasnt in place at the time but it was such a funny reference at that moment. We can always pretend Regan coined the phrase. ;)_

_I appreciate all your reviews and favorites and general love! Thankyou so much for all the compliments and feedback! _


	10. A Thousand Appologies

_I wrote this up much faster than I thought I would! It was already scattered around my journal so I didnt realize when I typed it up today that it was basically already finished. This is the finale of the fourth and final summit meeting and also the finale of this story! After (almost exactly) a year it's over! I had a lot of fun writing this and I feel like I've learned alot about history as well as writing in the process. Thankyou so much for all the support via reviews! I appreciate everyone who continued to read this, review or no review! Please enjoy the last chapter! _

**_Warnings:_**_This chapter contains heavy yaoi...though if you're still reading this chances are you're more than fine with that. ;)  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or history_

* * *

The sun rose upon Moscow and faint streams of May sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains and danced upon the limp forms of the sleeping pair.

America lay atop Russia with his head nestled snugly under the larger man's chin. The morning rays played upon his eyelids and their brightness filtered through the thin skin, aching his sleeping eyes and making him squirm.

He opened his blue orbs and let the morning light blind him. In the fleeting moments of sightless struggle, he found he was unable to move. Something was holding him fast in a tight, warm embrace. His eyes adjusted and his sight was restored, revealing to him a rather humorous picture…

Russia lay beneath him, trapped in a death-like sleep. The skin around his eyes was completely smooth and relaxed; devoid of the usual deep circular trenches and wrinkles that always made him appear so tired. He looked much like a sleeping child, and the goofy grin plastered on his large cherub face only added to the fact. His arms were wrapped around America as if he were a stuffed bear. It was only the entanglement of their legs that made the scene less than innocent.

As America gazed at Russia through the haze of his partial sleep-like state, images of the previous night floated in his mind dreamily. What had happened could only be described as the final act; the final accumulation of all the talks, the fights, the tension that had built between them for many long years. The night they shared had symbolized the end of them as well as the birth of a new relationship; a shaky one but one that existed nonetheless.

_The door to Russia's bedroom was burst open with a reverberating crash and a large mass stumbled through so tangled and tightly bound it could hardly be recognized as two separate beings. _

_They were already well past any point of stopping. The more slender and lithe man was wound around the thick, bear-like one. His legs were wrapped tightly around the other's waist, and the irregular rolling of his hips against the other's rock-hard groin exemplified his impatience. _

_Russia gasped and moaned deeply into the sweat slicked neck of America. Kicking the abused door shut, he hastily moved towards the bed with his hot and needy tormentor writhing in his arms. _

_A pair of spectacles was dropped carelessly, followed by a rumpled scarf, then a shirt, and another shirt was torn and discarded in a shower of buttons, as neither man went to the trouble of unbuttoning them. _

America remembered the cool sheets and the feeling of himself sinking down into the mattress and how he was pressed further and further into it by Russia's large heated, sticky form. He seemed so large at that moment, more giant than America had ever thought him. But at that moment he loved how large Russia felt; how he had been so completely enveloped in his embrace that Russia had suddenly become his world.

A familiar coil of heat grew deep in his gut as he remembered the many kisses he and his rival shared that night. What started as careful and gentle kissing grew to become a sloppy melding of their mouths.

_Russia had captured and claimed America's mouth with his tongue. America fought to hold his ground as the wet wicked thing traced his teeth and slipped through his defenses to slide across his own tongue and stroke the sensitive roof of his mouth. He nipped at the muscle in retaliation, sometimes boarder lining violence but the Russian only tightened his hold, securing him against the mattress and continued to conquer him. _

_And America loved it. _

_He couldn't remember how he finally managed it, but somehow he had wrestled Russia onto his back and found himself the victor, sitting on Russia's rapidly rising and falling stomach with a triumphant grin. _

"_Well lookie here…" He cackled, holding Russia's powerful limbs at bay. "Hmm what should I do to you…" _

"_Release me? I like that idea very much." Russia grumbled, amethyst eyes glaring up at the smiling blonde. _

_America remembered how fun it was to tease him then. He had pretended to think over Russia's words, loving it when Russia's scowl deepened as he knew America wasn't about to take him seriously. _

"_Na!" He cackled finally and leaned down to kiss the dip in Russia's collar bone. "Not after I play with you first…" He moved his mouth up to suck at Russia's Adam's apple and the noises he rose from Russia made him groan in kind. _

_America went on to explore every inch of Russia from the tips of his ears to the insides of his thighs. He was thorough in his conquest. There was no place he hadn't sucked, bit, licked, or groped and when the heat in his groin had become too unbearable and the nation beneath him was on the verge of screaming, he made a sloppy trail of hasty kisses up to Russia's lips and crushed their mouths together once more as his hand reached between them and stroked their aching cocks. _

"_Mmmf…oh god Ivan…I need you…" He moaned and his hand quickened its pace. _

_He felt Russia smile through their kiss and suddenly he was being shoved up and off the Russian he was busy loving and found himself on the bottom once again. _

"_You are ready then, dorogoi?" Russia whispered huskily, shifting them so America's legs were up near his shoulders. He reached across them to a dresser and rummaged in a drawer, withdrawing a bottle. _

"_Wh-what are you doing? I-Ivan, hey!" _

America remembered the terror that seized him that moment and the struggle that had ensued. He vividly remembered the way Russia treated them the _last_ time they had had sex, and although the circumstances were quite different this time, that was not an experience he wanted to repeat ever again. Unfortunately, Russia for some reason could not fathom as to why America objected to being on the bottom…

_Russia stopped and gave him a quizzical look. "I am preparing you, Alfred…unless you prefer it dry…" _

"_What? No, no, no! I don't prefer it anyway at all! I don't bottom! That's not how it works!" America cringed as Russia reached down to ruffle his hair playfully. _

"_If my memory serves me well, _lyubovʹ, _it worked very well last time…" _

"_You're a sadist! It did _not_ work well at all! The last time you topped, I couldn't walk for a week!" _

_Russia's eyes softened instantly; all traces of teasing gone as soon as he recognized the very real fear that shone in America's wide eyes. He cupped America's face in his large hand and kissed him deeply. _

"_The last time, it was an act of hate and desperation. I promise you Alfred that this time I will be gentle. " _

Russia had won him over in the end with another soft kiss that seemed almost _too_ tender now that America thought about it. Though he seemed consoled as he relaxed and Russia slicked his fingers, the fear was still there.

_He felt the usual odd, uncomfortable sensation as Russia pressed the first finger in. True to Russia's word, America felt no pain yet, though the absence of it did nothing to quell the growing apprehension America felt as the second and third fingers were added. _

_America had been lying on his back, eyes glued on the dark black space that would be the ceiling. He tried to focus on Russia's other hand that rubbed his nipples and the tongue and teeth marking his neck and chest; anything to relax. The fingers were removed and suddenly America felt a cold emptiness and involuntarily whined at the loss of their warmth and the fullness they gave him. _

_However, that weird sense of impending doom was still there. He silently prayed to whatever deity existed for countries that it wouldn't hurt like the last time. Seeing the faint but still present fear in America's eyes, Russia's liquid gaze poured with affection and even a bit of amusement. _

"_Relax lapushka." The Arctic giant murmured against America's lips. His free hand slid up from his chest to curl Nantucket's ever present curl around his fingers, making America gasp loudly. Russia slid his other hand between them and stroked him comfortingly. "You must relax. Trust me." _

_America's head fell back onto the sheets and he gave out a loud wanton moan, gripping Russia's shoulders tightly and all his fear and pride dissolved completely, giving way to pure pleasure. He knew somehow that he would be more than fine. It had simply taken some time to admit it. _

_Russia's hand slid down to hold America's thigh, while the other left his cock for his hip. He entered him slowly, eyes fixed on America's face for any sign of pain. When halfway in, Russia began to thrust slowly; starting shallow, yet plunging a fraction deeper with each one. _

America ached as he remembered how Russia had looked then with his face contorting in pleasure and concentration. He saw how much effort it was taking Russia to keep control.

_Clawing and kneading at the knotted muscle of Russia's broad back, America cried out in pleasure, tone increasing in a slow crescendo, and he squeezed him close. His legs wrapped around Russia's hips and he frantically thrust back, breaking the steady pace Russia tried to keep. _

"_Oh God Ivan!" He cried, eyes rolling. "Oh god damnit_ more_!" He brought Russia down and crushed their lips together again. Strings of saliva trailed from their feverish lips every time they surfaced for air. _

"_O Alʹfred ! YA ne mogu ..." _

_Russia gave several more sporadic thrusts as he reached his threshold and was finally brought to release. It wasn't long before America followed with Russia's human name on his lips. _

The moments after that were completely lost to America. He supposed he must have fallen asleep. He stared at Russia's serene face a moment longer before leaning over to kiss his lips. That had been one hell of a night.

Settling back to his former position on Russia's chest, America crossed his arms atop Russia's rising and falling pectorals and marveled over the past two years he spent with his arch-enemy. They had made so much progress it seemed; if you wanted to call it that. Regan certainly would, though America had come to detest the word for all it implied and all it excluded in its dumb, narrow definition.

The changes between them seemed progressive on the surface but America felt that under all the treaties and boring meetings they were made to attend, they really had not come to agree on anything at all. What is a treaty to them after all? Treaties and peace-talks only give an _illusion_ of progress. They are temporary surrenders; mere bandages covering a much deeper wound. America and Russia were _not_ allies, nor did America think they ever would be. As a person, Ivan was likable…quite likable actually. But they were still so vastly different, all they could do would be to agree to disagree and for now America was perfectly fine with that, as long as Russia stopped expanding for good.

He felt so attracted to Ivan and so repulsed by Russia. Frankly, their relationship was filled with so many twists and turns and loops and holes, it looked like a giant knotted ball of string and it made America all dizzy and sick trying to figure it out. While the ball was unpleasant to look at, at times and everyone prefers the unwound string, America was content to leave it knotted.

America buried his head against Russia's warm chest and tried not to think about any of it. He just wanted to enjoy the wrongness of that moment to the fullest and forget the "progress" that threatened to ruin everything.

Russia blinked awake and his violet eyes flickered down to the amber head that lay on his chest. He gave a lazy hum and reached a large hand up from America's back to ruffle his sleep-tousled hair. America lifted his head to meet Russia's eyes.

"G'd mornin'." America mumbled groggily. He was pleased to see Russia awake. It meant it would be easier not to think.

"Dobroe utro." Russia answered cordially and leaned down to kiss the other's forehead.

America grabbed Russia's face and brought their lips together and kissed him deeply. Just when it seemed as though they would be unable to stop, they pulled apart. Russia beamed at America warmly as he ran his hands up and down the smooth, lean muscled back of the American that lay atop him.  
"Did you sleep well, solnyshko?

"I slept like a log!" America said as he snuggled up beside the Russian man. He fit perfectly. The scene was already cliché enough as it was and seemed a little over-done and silly, but America tried hard not to pay attention to any of that. Today's theme was no thinking unless absolutely necessary.  
"Do you think they _really_ need us there today?" He mumbled lazily.

"Nyet." Russia replied quietly. His eyes were fixed on a spot on America's hip where his thick fingers traced meandering patterns across the sun-kissed skin. "Though they _think_ they do. It is very silly. I am sure our leaders could accomplish much more if we were not present to argue."

"Tell me about it." America grumbled.

"What do you mean? I just did…"

"…Never mind, Ivan." America rolled his eyes at Russia's incapability to understand even the most common figures of American speech. "But anyway, we must have some purpose. I mean, if they really didn't need us, we wouldn't be here right?"

"Da, I suppose, if you want to think of it that way."

"Well, what other way is there?" America asked, perplexed.

"…Never mind, Alfred."

A silence fell between them, though it didn't feel empty and suffocating like usual.  
It was as if the silence was merely another mode of communication, through which they were able to read each other's gaze and touches and interpret them into thoughts. Through touch, Russia could feel the contempt and satisfaction that radiated from America in the way the blue eyed nation lay curled tight against his side. America probed Russia's bottomless eyes and saw a very rare joy in them he had never seen before the previous day.

Russia suddenly flashed America a mischievous grin and his hands trailed down the subtle curve of America's side and hip, coming to rest upon the other man's ass. America's face stretched to a similar expression and his azure eyes burned as he was lifted and pulled atop Russia. Sighs of pleasure escaped the lips of both men as their groins met.

"You know what's funny?" America growled huskily in Russia's ear. The eyes beneath his sparked with interest. "Back in Korea, Iran, Vietnam and every single little problem that seemed to keep popping up out of nowhere, I always felt your presence…no matter who I fought or where I went, that big dumb shadow of yours appeared and ruined everything. It was like you were a part of me, yet completely separate at the same time."

"I felt the same way about _hmmn_…you, Alfred." Russia said, growling softly as he busied his hands bellow on the shape of America's thighs. "You were always the hand behind the curtain, setting troops in the way and ruining my plans with your stupid _ahh_…meddling."

"But you love me for it."

"I could say the same for you, lyubovʹ." Russia murmured and angled his head down for better access to America's long white neck.

America bent his head back, stretching appreciatively to grant Russia more of him.  
He was feverishly in love with Russia's mouth. He was in love with the large, cavernous feel of it when he was being swallowed in a kiss and the way it ravished his skin with sloppy, yet powerful kisses and bites drove him mad. America had shifted them so he now lay trapped between Russia's imposing figure and the sheets. He reclined his had back and simply lay there with his hands stroking Russia's fair head and neck; allowing himself to become lost in bliss.

"_Hnnn_ I can't get enough of you…" He said breathlessly. Russia's mouth was making a wet trail downward and America writhed beneath him in heat as his hands fisted in Russia's snowy hair.

Russia mumbled something unintelligible as he fiddled with America's belly button with his tongue. America could not tell whether it was English or Russian; it was probably both. He let out an impatient moan, feeling the heat and pressure in his groin build and build as each wet mouthful of flesh brought the object of his desire closer and closer-

And then the phone rang.

Russia dropped his head hard on America's abdomen and groaned. America yelped in pain and let loose a string of profanities.

"Shit! Out of all the times to call!" America cried, severely disappointed and aching from the promise that Russia was stopped short of full-filling.

"Well…we should probably be there in about ten minutes anyway." Russia muttered as he sat back and glowered at the phone, which rang a third time.

"Should we answer it?" America asked gloomily. To pick up or not pick up, that was the question. Either way, the mood was ruined and their previous activities would probably cease to continue either way.

"Da. It is probably my boss." Russia said and with the arrival of the fourth ring, America reached across Russia for the phone.

"Alfred! Nye-"

"Yo." America answered the phone.

"Ah! Er…good morning Mr. Amerika. May I speak with Russia?" A surprised Mikhail Gorbachev asked on the other end.

"Well, he's kinda busy right now. How about you try again in a few hours, okie-dokie?"

The Russian president only seemed to get more flustered and his barely fluent English was suffering greatly in the awkward situation America was pushing with great relish.

"Alfred!" Russia reached over and snatched the phone away from the obnoxious teaser.

"Tysyacha izvineniĭ , ·eer. Amerika misbehaves at times." Russia said in English to provoke America, glaring at the Western nation. America responded with a pillow, striking it against Russia's head. Russia tossed the pillow across the room and held America's hands at bay within his own as he juggled the phone between his head and shoulder masterfully.

"Actually, sir, _Alfred_ and I were wanting to know if our presence today is necessary to the future of the nations we happen to represent…da, I understand…but I believe you are a grown man, and capable of making your own decisions, with all respect sir….nyet, nyet I trust that you and Regan will get on fine…lie to the press then. Dobryi den [good day]."

America could hear the Russian president's sputtered protests as his nation removed the receiver from his ear and severed the connection with a sharp *click*. America flashed a mile-wide grin as Russia settled back between his legs and kissed up his inner thighs.

"You tell 'em Ivan." He said with a shaky laugh, back arching in pleasure.

"I thought that went quite well." Russia stated as he lifted his head and began licking America's red cock.

"You, _ohhh_, d-don't think he'll, _ahh, _d-do something?"

There was a muffled laugh from between his legs and its sound vibrated all around America's length making him cry out. Russia gave one last suck before lifting his head to grin wickedly at America's flushed face. "And what could little Mikhail possibly do to his nation? He fears me greatly."

"Hmm and for good reason too."

"You have _no_ idea, dorogoi."

Politics and the status of Russia and America's re-configured relationships and all past history were topics that were deemed forbidden for the day. For the final day of the last summit, it was Alfred and Ivan, nothing more or less.

The entire morning was spent in bed. Alfred wanted to simulate an American-style Saturday morning and said no one had any business getting out of bed before noon, unless it was to watch Saturday morning cartoons, which the USSR unfortunately banned. Alfred made the Soviet pledge that he would watch Loony Tunes with him on his next visit to the States.

The pair spent the entire day together, travelling leisurely around the gray streets of Moscow, and the next night was spent like the last. When America departed the next morning, the pair had made a secret agreement.

They agreed to meet in secret as often as possible. As long as the Cold War would continue to last, and long after it would end, Alfred and Ivan would prevail throughout. No matter what treaties were broken and signed, no matter what leaders were elected or put in power on either side, the stance of Alfred and Ivan would stand separate until they decided to end.

Four hours later, Air Force One arrived in London, England. President Regan and the nation of which he was leader arrived at Buckingham Palace in time for tea so the American president might acknowledge the long-prevailing friendship between the United States and Britain and so that America could catch up with his truest friend.

America found England in the garden bent over a lush flowering bush. The Englishman was so absorbed in the task of pruning its emerald leaves; he failed to hear the footsteps that came to a stop directly behind him.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you're not a woman after all." America spoke without introduction.

England wobbled in his crouched position and almost toppled into the bush in alarm.

"Alfred, you asshat!" The emerald eyed man spat, throwing a furious green glare at the former colony as he picked himself up from the earth. America grinned.

"Hey there, Artie."

After the usual teasing and bashing, the pair migrated to the table and cushioned chairs that sat in the thick of the royal gardens in a small patio reserved for the Queen during her noon tea.

England poured himself a cup of the ritual brown liquid from a porcelain tea pot and stirred in his customary cream and sugar cubes serenely.

"So how went the meeting?" He asked out of politeness. Surely whatever America had to say on the matter was news worthy.

"Fine." Was the only response; the simple, unspecific and off-handed _fine_ that seemed to become more and more apart of America's speech.

"Alfred. Seriously, _how did things go with Russia?_"

"Same-old, same-old!" America said, exasperated. "We signed some treaties and he wouldn't let me get a word in on human rights and we had a few fights here and there…"

But England could tell from the color of the other's cheeks and the peculiar reminiscent shine in his azure eyes that something was different. He questioned America's truthfulness with scorn.

"Ok, so we maybe agreed a bit!" America threw his hands up in the air in an annoyed gesture. "We talked a lot…even about casual things and Russia made me eat Bitochki…which was sort of like burgers but different though really good. We went to the Bolioshi Ballet and then we..." America trailed off there as a massive red wave of color washed across his whole face.

A single thick eyebrow rose and England leaned forward in his seat, staring at America expectantly. "Yes?"

"We…" America sputtered and choking with the weight of the words. He wasn't ashamed of what he and Russia had done together. The agreement they made was symbol of that. He couldn't get enough of the scarf wearing man of the north and even though they could admit it to one another, the thought of confessing to England was terrifying.

England's eyebrow dropped and his gaze softened to one of sympathy as he watched the young nation struggle with the right words. "You can tell me, Alfred. I will not pass judgment. You know you can trust me with your heart, dear."

America felt like a boy again, forced into an uncomfortable adolescent talk about puberty. Yet he knew he could trust his father-figure, teacher, and best friend. He let out a lung full of air.

"We made love, I guess." He said and the fire in his cheeks returned.

"Was it good?" England asked with a small smirk.

"_Amazing._"

"Ah. That is…interesting." England appeared disturbed by the news for some reason and America longed to know what he was thinking.

"Is there a problem?" He asked. Defensiveness crept into his tone unintentionally.

"Well…it just seems sudden." Arthur said uncomfortably, but America knew that wasn't even half of the reason. "He is just so much older Alfred."

America nearly choked on laughter. "Since when did age stop _you?_" He scoffed.

"Th-that was quite different!" England's cheeks flushed red and the cup and saucer in his white hand shook.

"How?"

"Well, I know you for one! Better than anyone, and I trust you, Alfred. I hope to God you trust me too."

America smiled fondly upon his English friend, father, and lover. "Of course I do." He said. "I don't know what it is about Russia, but there's definitely something between us. No one knows how long it will last, but we have a lot to sort out. You'll always be special to me though and no one can replace you."

"I don't know if I can believe that now, after you made another 'special relationship' with Israel." England muttered, obviously hiding some deep wound.

"Aw, Arthur!" America cried, appalled. "You know that was nothing! He needed my protection! It was for the sake of his survival!"

"So that is what you call it, Alfred? Bloody _Nothing_?"

"Wha- it was _one_ time! I wanted him to experience it with someone he trusts!"

"Before big bad Russia could come take his innocence away?"

"Something like that." America admitted with a bashful smile.

"He was never innocent, Alfred. After what Germany's lunatic boss did to his people, how could he have been? The child knew what he was doing since his creation. He was unstoppable even to you."

America's glum expression swallowed up the conversation as he sat obviously disturbed by his memories of the new Jewish country all the civilized nations had created after the last World War they ever hoped to have.

"He just grew up so fast…I thought I would've had someone I could raise over there to be big and strong; the only force of good in that evil lawless place…but he…"

"Would not listen?" England finished. His emerald eyes shone with wisdom and sympathy for his colony yet couldn't help but be tainted with a touch of humor. "You remind me so much of myself." He said sadly. "Your fire and determination in taking on the whole wide world…and you even found a poor helpless country to adopt as your own."

"I was never helpless." America pouted. "And besides, someone has to be in charge of the world!"

England smiled. "And who better to take the throne than my own inheritance?" He reached across the little table and ruffled America's hair like he did when he was a colony.

"How is the Communist bloke, by the way? Last I heard, his Union was not doing well."

America looked nervous, which was surprising. He shook his head slowly and the corners of his mouth bent down in a way that made his whole face look grim. "He didn't look too hot." He said. "He was sick in bed when I first got there. He went to the meeting and fought and argued like normal but something still seemed off the whole time. I don't think he can handle so many countries. They're all fed up with him and it doesn't look like he will be able to hold them together much longer."

England's eyes widened. "But is that not what you have wanted for the past forty years?" He asked. "It looks like you might beat the bleeding Slav after all!"

"Yeah, I know. What bothers me the most is I'm kind of upset about it." America said. "I mean, what are we going to do if he falls? What happens to all our weapons and all the countries he took over? What happens to _me_?"

"It's not rudy like you to fret over the future." England noted. His face then went serious and grave. "But those are good questions. What will happen indeed?"

England's words and America's own questions haunted him the entire plane ride back to D.C. The questions churned over and over in his mind like the long-extinct wooden water wheel that drove his economy long before the invention of steam. They were questions about the future; the kinds of questions there are no answers for. Though something in the charged air around him told America he knew _exactly_ how this "Cold War" was going to end and the implications of it frightened America to the core. He knew he already won.

* * *

_Translations:  
__  
dorogoi - dear  
__  
lyubov' - love  
__  
Ya ne mogu... - I can't...  
__  
Dobroe utro - Good morning_

solnyshko - sun 

_Tysyacha izvineniĭ , ·eer - A thousand appologies, sir._

**_FYI_**_I dont know if I mentioned this before, but for the fourth summit I actually found Ronald Regan's full scale itinerary for the Moscow summit! I used it as the template for the last two chapters. It really helped frame my ideas and the funny thing is, what was covered in the actual summit was very close to what happened in this story. The Regans and Gorbachev's did go to the Bolshoi Ballet, there was a private lunch, and the final day was a one-on-one meeting with Regan and Gorbachev where the press were not allowed...and they basically just went over the relationship of the US and USSR and I felt like I could skip that one. Regan also stopped by Buckingham Palace on the way home to acknowledge the special relationship between the US and Great Britian, and that just seemed so appropriate. _

_Thankyou again for the support! There will be a short epilouge chapter following this. Just something fun to tie it all together. I also want to go back and edit the first few chapters. There wont be anything new I dont think but they'll be more polished and less immature. I dont know how you got past them...but I am very happy you did!_


	11. Epilogue

_Guess what time it is? EILOGUE TIME! Cause this baby is OVER! Yes, I'm very sad too, but it means I get to move on to two rather complicated stories I've been itching to write! Thankyou so much to everyone who has read/favorited/reviewed. Your support means alot, really. No BS there. _

_In speaking of reviews, after the last chapter, a few people got upset with my mention of past UsUk relationships and Israel and wondered why I didnt keep this story strictly RusAme. Well, normally I would if this were just a story about Russia and America but since this is history we're dealing with here, I really cant. In my personal history headcannon, history is just a big mess of sex and war as far as countries go. After WWII, the US DID cheet on England with another special relationship with Israel and in WWII, UsUk was pretty much happening. I also cant see sibling or parent relationships between nations being fesable, so I never saw UsUk as incestuous. But even if it is, I dont see things like that mattering to countries. So, I'm sorry if I offended anyone or made people angry, but thats how I view the world of Hetalia and it works best for me. _

_Here the final chapter opens with a few historical facts from my old AP US history notes. Enjoy!_

* * *

From 1990 to 1991, the Soviet Union underwent disintegration and finally collapse. Twenty nations, some new and some old, suddenly emerged from what seemed to be thin air as the Union's boarders crumbled and the boundary receded closer and closer to Russia itself. The Berlin Wall; the staunch symbol of the division between east and west was brought tumbling down on November 9th of 1989, the year of the final summit between the US and USSR. Thousands of Germans, divided for three decades as East and West, poured over the wall's crumbling remains. This symbol of Germany's reunification was also symbol of the final end of the most tumultuous century yet. On the surface, all seemed at ease.

Unfortunately, for the people of the East the end of the Cold War brought on a whole other era of suffering. With the collapse of one over-seeing power, the newly-liberated Satellite Nations turned on themselves in turmoil. Little aid from the West was provided and the small nations were unused to independence. A long history of oppression under powerful empires left the countries clueless. No nation knew where to start. The people turned on each other in bouts of ethnic cleansing and civil war. Even within Germany, the once like-blooded people had grown so vastly different, with one half completely modernized and adapt to Western culture and the other forever stuck in the past.

The day the Berlin Wall fell was a day America would remember for the rest of his life as a country and human.

That afternoon, the mighty nation stood beside his new boss. His blue eyes were hard as ice. His posture remained rigid, and not even the hardest gust of the iciest wind seemed to move him as he stared at the ugly gray mass before him. The Soviet economy had finally collapsed. After two years of crash after crash and sky-high inflation, Russia gave up the ghost. America could not say what exactly happened. He speculated that the situation was so far past dire; Russia had to give up everything just to stay alive. Yet a part of him wondered if the other had simply stopped trying. Maybe by letting himself collapse, Russia was showing his surrender? But what could ever possess the proud and stubborn Russia to stoop so low?

The wrecking balls were in place and the countdown began, in German of course. A large crowd had gathered for this historical event. It seemed as if the entire city of West Berlin was congregated in this one place, and maybe even people from other parts of the country as well. In the corner of his eye, America glimpsed their personification himself several yards away. Pulling his ancient bomber jacket tightly around him, America went to the stoic blonde.

Germany looked far from well. His face, normally pale but always tinged with pink at the cheeks, was washed a sickly white all over. There was a sheen of cold sweat on his sharp Aryan features that even the biting winter air did nothing to eliminate. He failed to move an inch even when America came to his side less-than quietly. It looked as if the strong, level-headed man was about to either cry or faint; perhaps both.

America reached a hesitant hand up to grasp Germany's broad shoulder. Steely blue eyes flickered and for a moment their eyes met.

"You ready?" America asked. He tried to sound confident, but his voice cracked, betraying both his cold and his fear.

"Yes and no." Germany muttered, looking back to the wall. "I…I cannot wait to see him. Yet at the same time, I do not what to see what he has become."

"Yeah. Me neither…"

Shouts and screams issued from the other side of the Wall. The American looked at the German nervously, but the German's eyes never moved from the cold gray stone.

"They riot again." Germany muttered so quietly America was unsure whether he was meant to hear. "They have been protesting and demonstrating for months now. Rumor has it, the riots got so bad they are now forced to tear this wall down just to keep the peace."

America was sure that was not the whole story. The Wall is coming down because the system is dying. He had not seen Russia since the last summit they had spent together. As Alfred, he missed Ivan terribly, almost enough to buy a plane ticket and make the ten hour flight on his own. But Russia was sick. Lithuania had called one day unexpectedly and said Russia was too sick to speak. Russia had ordered the phone call. He wanted America to know he was failing. It would only be a matter of time before he crashed and burned.

There was a loud snap and crash. A panel of the wall fell. The crowd cheered and people screamed and cried. Behind the wall stood a line of East German policemen. Behind them, a mass of people were pushing and shoving in their desperation to get through. America and Germany winced as a gunshot rang out and someone barked orders in rough German. Germany said they were telling people to wait, as if they hadn't waited long enough.

"You cannot imagine what it was like…when the Wall was built." Germany spoke suddenly. His voice trembled, and he spoke quickly. America watched his chiseled face wearily. He had no idea why Germany was opening up to him like this. "The pain was unbearable. It felt as if they had ripped my heart in two."

Another section fell, and then another and the crowd on both sides whooped and roared. It was not until a sizable section of the Wall was removed that the police and military finally allowed the East Germans to come through.

They flowed in like a flood.

Hundreds of people poured from the gap in the Wall through the Brandenburg Gate. West Germans were immediately attacked with hugs and kisses. It didn't seem to matter if they knew them or not. The flow of bodies seemed to go on for an eternity, but the nation of Germany stood rigid and firm as stone throughout. After what seemed like hours, the wave of people started to ebb and America thought he glimpsed a frock of snow white hair standing directly under the Brandenburg Gate.

"Germany! Germany, is that-" America pointed and shouted the words, jumping ecstatically, but Germany was already gone. America watched the blonde man push his way through the throngs of his people with his jaw on the ground.

Germany reached the giant columns of the Gate. The crowd was thickest here, but he didn't pause for a second. His blood was on fire with adrenaline and while the previous minutes he spent navigating through the mob were a blur, in this moment time seemed to slow.

Prussia stood in the middle of the two central columns. People were running all around him; hugging and screaming. They did not stop when they came to him, but parted their ranks to move around him like a river does a boulder. Germany moved against their current, moving only inches closer to his brother at the pace of a snail. He reached his Eastern brother finally and without shame, joined the many other Germans and threw his arms around Prussia's stone form.

"Ost! Oh Gott, Ost!" He cried. Sobs suddenly broke free and made him shake all over as he get himself go for the first time since the end of the War. "G-Gott…b-brunder, ich hätte nie gedacht, ich würde dich wiederzusehen!"

The nation in Germany's quivering arms did not even flinch. Germany managed to finally control his sobs and pulled back to look at his brother with tear-blurred eyes.

Germany did not know what to name the expression on Prussia's face, but it was far from celebretory. The best word that came to mind was _somber_, but the awful emptiness in his blood red eyes made even that definition an understatement. Exhaustion and malnutrition wreaked havoc on his face. Black rings lay under his dulled, milky eyes and wrinkles appeared at the coners of them as if he were tired of opening them. Lines were etched into the corners of his mouth from many grimaces and frowns. His entire countance seemed haggard and beaten down. The ever-youthful misfit nation had been stripped down and beaten until nothing but an empty shell remained. Germany pulled his older brother to his chest once more.

"We are one nation now, Ost, but you do not have to die! Stay with me, Bruder, please! We can share this country! Sterb nicht!"

Germany swore he imagined it, but he felt his brother's cheek pull up into a smirk against his own and a gloved hand reached up to clutch the fabric at his shoulder.

"Dankeshön…" He heard a cracked voice whisper.

It was December 31, 1991; New Years Eve. The USSR

* * *

was now gone for good. All the satellite nations had declared themselves sovereign, and to the world's shock, Russia did nothing to stop them. Hungary, East Germany, Romania, Albania, Afghanistan, and even the Baltics simply left one by one. Russia's two sisters even left him. The only response Russia gave was to create a CIS; a Commonwealth of Independent States. In their absence, the large mansion outside of Moscow lay empty and began the slow process of decay as the economy outside its ancient walls remained stagnant.

No nation stepped in to give aid. Not a nation in the West was willing, as Russia had been the cause of several gray hairs for forty five long years. Even those who had the means and the inclination were voted down immediately by the majority of NATO.

The world simply stood by with passive, unsympathetic eyes as Russia struggled to pick up the chaotic pieces that were left of his country.

On the eve of the New Year that marked the beginning of a new era, the bitter, merciless wind howled at America as he reluctantly left his warm car for the violent Russian winter. Chunks of ice assailed his exposed face, which had fallen instantly numb, as if even the land of Russia violently rejected his presence.

America ignored the pain of the icy rejections and plowed his way through the unshoveled driveway. The snow's weight quickly tired his legs. It must have been at least three feet deep!

After what felt like hours, America conquered the hellish obstacle course and stepped one frost-bitten foot after the other under the protection of the stone porch. He raised a hesitant hand to the large cold metal knockers and with all his strength, announced his presence.

It was long before even a light flickered in the hallway, and even longer still before the door to the house opened a crack.

"Privet?" The voice of Russia rose from the crack, in a tone cold enough to match the negative temperatures outside.

"Howdy, Ivan!" The light and carefree words left America's mouth before he could stop them. He had come to cheer the destitute nation up since it was the only thing his Congress would agree to pass.

There was a pause, then a sigh from within as the door was opened fully to reveal a ragged and sickly Russia. "Amerika…what are you-"

"Geez Ivan! Are you gonna invite me in or what? Even my balls are probably frost-bitten by now!"

Amethyst eyes searched the blonde lethargically before the tall nation silently stepped aside and let him in.

The place was trashed.

America could tell that much even from his limited view in the front room. Vases were smashed to bits and the antique wall paper hung down the walls in shreds. Rich furniture was turned upside down and thrown out of place. Books and pages of books lay strewn across the floor and empty glass bottles of Russian vodka littered the place. America looked to Russia in shock and sympathy as the large man moved around the house and attempted to make it somewhat presentable. In the large sitting room, he righted an over-turned chair and threw logs into the feebly glowing fire. He sat himself in another chair; the only one that escaped abuse and beckoned to his guest, who was standing frozen in the doorway.

America cautiously approached the chair Russia had offered him and slowly sat, swallowing hard as he faced the Russian. Russia emptied a bottle of his signature hard liquor into two large wine glasses and offered one to America. America raised his eyebrows and took the glass in his hands. He never ceased to be amazed with Russia's unnatural tolerance to alcohol.

Russia took a long slow sip of his vodka, staring at America all the while. Not knowing what else to do, America flashed a goofy grin. Russia set his glass down and gave a small twitch of his lips in a half-hearted smile.

"Why have you come, Alfred?" Russia asked. America could detect some impatience in his melancholy tone, but also relief.

"Well, I wanted to help you out and give you some aid, but my Congress voted that down fast…so I decided dropping by for a visit was the next best thing I could do." America said with a shallow shrug.

"Ahh…well I appreciate the thought, Alfred. This house has been quite empty these days…as you can see."

"Why don't you move out?" America suggested. "I mean, this place is huge and I don't know…maybe it would be good for you to get away, you know?"

Russia snorted. "And where do you suppose I could go, Alfred?"

"The city? You could get a small apartment or something…"

The Russian nation cut America off with a biting, sardonic laugh. "The city? Ha, moĭ dorogoĭ there is nothing in my cites but riots and deadly mobs. Nyet, Alfred. I cannot step foot in Moscow without feeling my heart break. It is much too painful."

"Well…if it ever gets too unbearable, I'm only a ten hour plane ride away." America said with a wry smile. He felt that other, more light-hearted subjects would be better; something removed from the hectic lives of nations.

Russia downed his remaining vodka and America took a tentative sip of his own drink. The clear liquid sent a trail of fire down the inside of his throat. He gasped and coughed.  
"Damn!" He swore loudly, clutching his throat. Russia laughed and poured himself yet another glass.

"To the new era." He said with a smile, raising his glass.

America coughed once more. "Y-yeah…to the new era." He glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was ten minutes to midnight.  
"Hey, I bet the ceremony in Times Square is on now! Maybe that will cheer you up instead of sulking in this scary room!" He suggested hopefully.

Russia shook his head with a smile. "Alfred dear, most of Russia cannot afford even electricity at the present…and besides, Soviet Television is much more limited than your improving Western technologies. As with everything else I suppose, we just do not have the resources."

America slowly rose from his seat, setting his untouched glass on the mantle. He approached Russia's glum form slowly with emotion burning in his blue eyes.

Russia attempted to lift his glass to down another glassful of liquor when America caught his wrist and confiscated the drink and placed the glass out of reach. With two fingers under Russia's square chin, he lifted the other's head and leaned in for a kiss that quickly deepened and became impassioned.

America pried himself from those iron lips and pulled the larger man to his feet.

"Well then…" He whispered in Russia's ear, "I'll just have to distract you some other way."

* * *

It was April of 1992 and all the nations were gathered at the United Nations headquarters in New York for the first time. The former Soviet states all made their first appearance, looking like beings out of a dream. A small number of Latin and African nations were even invited and made the former European empires fidget uncomfortably in their seats.

The meeting room was tense. All nations, rich or poor, were connected by their own histories. Some were former colonies, some had people used as slaves, some were Empires and slave-holders, and some were responsible for unimaginable horrors of war. They all had blood on their hands. Not one had a history without corruption, whether it was in the past or present. The most difficult part of being a nation is living with one another and yourself on one small planet.

The meeting was minutes from starting. Germany was at the front of the room, outlining the day's agenda in the midst of the uncomfortable atmosphere when two nations burst in the room.

One was instantly recognized as America and the whole world snorted in amusement. It was typical that he would be late to his own meeting. His companion however came as a surprise.

The glowing blonde strutted proudly into the midst of the room with Russia's tall form at his side. The familiar electrified atmosphere that appeared whenever the two nations were present was gone, but with the familiar animosity gone, the nations of the UN felt a new wave of unease.

"Y'all started without me, huh?" America asked jovially. The young nation was the same cheerful and naïve country they were all familiar with, but the ease of his antics seemed out of place considering just _who _he was standing next to. The stares persisted in silence.

America looked up to his towering companion and shrugged. Amethyst eyes scanned the hundred petrified faces in the room and that signature child-like smile stretched his cheeks.

"Is there something the matter?" Russia asked sweetly. "Hmm, anyone?"

All the nations instantly dropped their gazes and the room filled with chatter. America flashed Russia an affectionate and grateful smile as the two took their seats.

Germany roughly called the room to attention and the meeting began. Looking around the room, America caught a glimpse of a familiar white haired nation. Prussia was leaning against the wall in the back of the room, watching his brother with laughing eyes. He still looked incredibly thin and sickly but the ex-nation was alive and kicking as a collection of states under his younger brother in some weird flip-flop of history. Red eyes found blue and as soon as America met the German's gaze, the albino gave a small fluttering of the wrist in a mocking flirtatious wave, pulled a rotten potato from his pants pocket and began tossing it in his white hands, looking back to his younger brother at the front of the room with a grin that screamed devil-may-care.

America smiled and stretched back in his seat, already bored and ready for some amusement as a single thought floated in his head. _Some things never change._

* * *

_Translations: _

_Bruder - brother _

_Gott - God_

_Ich haette nie gedacht, ich wuerde dich wiederzusehen! - I never thought I would see you again! ("ae" and "ue" replace the umlauts here because I'm too lazy to go to Google translate to get some) _

_Sterb nicht! - Dont die! _

_Dankeschoern - thankyou ("oe" = o umlaut. I'm lazy)_

_This epilogue was going to be cracky. I had a funny scene in my head for a while and I wanted to stick it in at the end for giggles but a wise reviewer once warned me against purposeless crack and I realized that an epilogue depicting the end of the Cold War would be a nice way to tie up my take on the Regan-Gorbachev summit meetings. They played a huge role in ending the cold war after all. _

_Thankyou again for all the love guys! See you later!_


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